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33  WIST  MAIN  STRUT 

WiBSTIR.NY.  I43t0 

(716)  173-4303 


CIHM/ICMH 

Microfiche 

Series. 


C'HM/JCMH 
Collection  de 
microfiches. 


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Technical  and  Bibliographic  Notes/Notes  techniques  et  bibliographiques 


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n 
n 

n 
0 


Coloured  covers/ 
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□ 


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10X  14X  18X  22X 


12X 


16X 


20X 


26X 


30X 


/ 


ax. 


2tX 


n 

32X 


The  copy  filmed  here  has  been  reproduced  thanks 
to  the  generosity  of: 

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L'exemplaire  filmd  fut  reproduit  grdce  d  la 
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empreinte. 


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shall  contain  the  tymbol  — ^>  (meaning  "CON- 
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whichever  applies. 


Un  des  symboles  suivants  apparaitra  sur  la 
dernidre  image  de  cheque  microfiche,  selon  le 
cas:  le  symbole  — ^-  signifie  "A  SUIVRE",  le 
symbole  V  signifie  "FIN". 


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beginning  in  the  upper  left  hand  corner,  left  to 
right  and  top  to  bottom,  as  many  frames  as 
required.  The  following  diagrams  illustrate  the 
method: 


Les  cartes,  planches,  tableaux,  etc.,  peuvent  dtre 
filmds  d  des  taux  de  reduction  diff^rents. 
Lorsque  le  document  est  trop  grand  pour  dtre 
reproduit  en  un  seui  cliche,  il  est  film6  d  partir 
de  I'angie  supdrieur  gauche,  de  gauche  d  droite, 
et  de  haut  en  bas,  en  prenant  le  nombre 
d'images  n^cessaire.  Les  diagrammes  suivants 
illustrent  la  mdthode. 


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PICTURESQUE  AMERICA; 


OR, 


THE  LAND  WE  LIVE  IN. 


A  DELINEATION  BY  PEN  AND  PENCIL 


OF 


THE  MOUNTAINS.  RIVERS,  LAKES,  FORESTS.  WATER-FALLS   SHORES^ 

CANONS.  VALLEYS.  CITIES,  AND  OTHER   PICTURESQUE 

FEATURES   OF  OUR  COUNTRY. 


«h  i»u^tr»ti(»tts  m  ^M  mH  mt^t^l  hj  dmmxiX  %m\m  %xiW, 


EDITED  BY  WILLIAM  CULLEN  BRYANT. 


VOL.    I. 


NEW    YORK: 
D.    APPLETON     AND     COMPANY, 

549    &    551     BROADWAY. 


i  i 
I  I 


Entered,  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1872, 

By   D.   APPLETON   &  CO., 

In   the   Office   of   the    Librarian   of   Congress,    at   Washington. 


PREFACE. 


IT  is  the  design  of  the  publication  entitled  "  Picturesque  America  "  to  present  full  descriptions  and 
elaborate  pictorial  delineations  of  the  scenery  characteristic  of  all  the  different  parts  of  our  country. 
The  wealth  of  material  for  this  purpose  is  almost  boundless. 

It  will  be  admitted  that  our  country  abounds  with  scenery  new  to  the  artist's  pencil,  of  a  varied  char- 
acter, whether  beautiful  or  grand,  or  formed  of  those  sharper  but  no  less  striking  combinations  of  outline 
wliich  belong  to  neither  of  these  classes.      In  the  Old  World  every  spot  remarkable  in  these  respects  has 
been  visited  by  the  artist ;  studied  and  sketched  again  and  again ;  observed  in  sunshine  and  in  the  shade 
of  clouds,  and  regarded  from  every  point  of  view  that  may  give  variety  to  the  delineation.     Both  those 
who  see  in  a  landscape  only  what  it  shows  to  common  eyes,  and  those  whose  imagination,  like  that  of 
Turner,  transfigures  and  glorifies  whatever  they  look  at,  have  made  of  these  places,  for  the  most  part,  all 
that  could  be  made  of  them,  until  a  desire  is  felt  for  the  elements  of  natural  beauty  in  new  combinations, 
ifand  for  regions  not  yet  rifled  of  all  that  they  can  j'ield  to  the  pencil.     Art  sighs  to  carry  her  conquests 
■  into  new  realms.     On  our  continent,  and  within  the  limits  of  our  Republic,  she  finds  them — primitive 
■l  forests,  in  which  the  huge  trunks  of  a  past  generation  of  trees  lie  mouldering  in  the  shade  of  their  aged 
'J  descendants  ;  mountains  and  valleys,  gorges  and   rivers,  and   tracts  of  sea-coast,  which  the  foot  of  the 
3  artist  has  never  trod  ;  and  glens  murmuring  with  water-falls  which  his  car  has  never  heard.     Thousands 
M  of  charming  nooks  arc  waiting  to  yield  their  beauty  to  the  pencil  of  the  first  comer.     On  the  two  great 
j  oceans  which  border  our  league  of  States,  and  in  the  vast  space  between  them,  we  find  a  variety  of  sce- 
^  ncry  which  no  other  single  country  can  boast  of      In  othe;  jwrts  of  the  globe  are  a  few  mountains  which 
J  attain  a  greater  altitude  than  any  within  our  limits,  but  the  mere  difference  in  height  adds  nothing  to  the 
.^i  impression  made  on  the  spectator.     Among  our  White   Mountains,  our  Catskills,  our  AUeghanies,  our 
'  Rocky  Mountains,  and  our  Sierra  Nevada,  we  have  some  of  the  wildest  and  most  beautiful  scenery  m  the 
world.     On  our  majestic  rivers — among  the  largest  on  either  continent — and  on  our  lakes — the  largest 
and  noblest  in  the  world — the  country  often  wears  an  aspect  in  which  beauty  is  blended  with  majesty; 
and  on  our  prairies  and  savannas  the  spectator,  surprised  at  the  vastncss  of  their  features,  finds  himself, 
notwithstanding  the  soft  and  gentle  sweep  of  their  outlines,  overpowered  with  a  sense  of  sublimity. 

By  means  of  the  overland  communications  lately  opened  between  the  Atlantic  coast  and  that  of  the 
Pacific,  we  have  now  easy  access  to  scenery  of  a  most  remarkable  character.  For  those  who  would  see 
Nature  in  her  grandest  forms  of  snow- clad  mountain,  deep  valley,  rocky  pinnacle,  precipice,  and  chasm, 
there  is  no  longer  any  occasion  to  cross  the  ocean.  A  rapid  journey  by  railway  over  the  plains  that 
stretch  westward  from  the  Mississippi,  brings  the  tourist  into  a  region  of  the  Rocky  Mountains  rivalling 
Switzerland  in  its  scenery  of  rock  piled  on  rock,  up  to  the  region  of  the  clouds.  But  Switzerland  has  no 
Such  groves  on  its  mountain-sides,  nor  has  even  Libanus,  with  its  ancient  cedars,  as  those  which  raise  the 
astonishment  of  the  visitor  to  that  Western  region — trees  of  such  prodigious  height  and  enormous  dimen- 
Itncnsions  that,  to  attain  their  present  bulk,  we  might  imagine  them  to  have  sprouted  from  the  seed  at  the 
me  of  the  Trojan  War.  Another  feature  of  that  region  is  so  remarkable  as  to  have  enriched  our  lan- 
iiage  with  a  new  word  ;  and  caitoti,  as  the  Spaniards  write  it,  or  canyon,  as  it  is  often  spelled  by  our  people. 


IV 


PREFACE. 


signifies  one  of  those  chasms  between  perpendicular  walls  of  rock^-chasms  of  fearful  depth  and  of  length 
like  that  of  a  river,  reporting  of  some  mighty  convulsion  of  Nature  in  ages  that  iiave  left  no  record  save 
in  these  displacements  of  the  crust  of  our  globe.  Nor  sliould  we  overlook  in  tliis  enumeration  the  scenery 
of  the  desert,  as  it  is  seen  in  all  its  dreariness,  not  without  offering  subjects  for  the  pencil,  in  those  tracts 
of  our  Western  possessions  where  rains  never  fill  nor  springs  gush  to  moisten  the  soil. 

When  we  speak  of  the  scenery  in  our  country  rivalling  that  of  Switzerland,  we  do  not  mean  to 
imply  that  it  has  not  a  distinct  and  peculiar  aspect.  In  mountain-scenery  Nature  dees  not  repeat  her- 
self any  more  than  in  the  human  countenance.  The  traveller  among  the  Pyrenees  sees  at  a  glance  that 
he  is  not  among  the  Alps.  There  is  something  in  the  forms  and  tints  by  which  he  is  surrounded,  and 
even  in  the  lights  which  fall  upon  them,  that  impresses  him  with  the  idea  of  an  essential  difference.  So, 
when  he  journeys  among  the  steeps,  and  gorges,  and  fo;intains  of  Lebanon  and  Anti-Lebanon,  he  well 
perceives  that  he  is  neither  among  the  Alps  nor  the  Pyrenees.  The  precipices  wear  outlines  of  their 
own,  the  -^JX  has  its  peculiar  vegetation   the  clouds  and  the  sky  have  their  distinct  physiognomy. 

Here,  then,  is  a  field  for  the  artist  almost  without  limits.  It  is  no  wonder  that,  with  such  an  abun- 
dance and  diversity  of  subjects  for  the  pencil  of  the  landr-cape-painter,  his  art  should  flourish  in  our 
country,  and  that  some  of  those  by  whom  it  is  practised  should  have  made  themselves  illustrious  by  their 
works.  Amid  this  great  variety,  however,  and  ;r>  a  territory  of  such  great  extent,  parts  of  which  are 
but  newly  explored  and  other  parts  yet  unvisited  by  sketchers,  it  is  certain  that  no  country  has  within  its 
borders  so  many  beautiful  spots  altogether  unfimiliar  to  its  own  people.  It  is  quite  safe  to  assert  that  a 
book  of  American  scenery,  like  "  PiCTURliSQUK  AMERICA,"  will  lay  before  American  readers  more 
scenes  entirely  new  to  them  than  a  similar  book  on  Europe.  Paintings,  engravings,  and  photographs, 
have  made  us  all,  even  those  who  have  never  seen  them,  well  acquainted  with  the  banks  of  the  Hudson, 
with  Niagara,  and  with  the  wonderful  valley  of  the  Yosemite  ;  but  there  are  innumerable  places  which 
lie  out  of  the  usual  path  of  our  artists  and  tourists ;  and  many  strange,  picturesque,  and  charming  scenes, 
sought  out  in  these  secluded  spots,  will,  for  the  first  time,  become  familiar  to  the  general  public  through 
these  pages.  It  is  the  purpose  of  the  work  to  illustrate  with  greater  fulness,  and  with  superior  excel- 
lence, so  far  as  art  is  concerned,  the  places  which  attract  curiosity  by  their  interesting  associations,  and, 
at  the  same  time,  to  challenge  the  admiration  of  the  public  for  many  of  the  glorious  scenes  which  lie  in 
the  by-ways  of  travel. 

Nor  is  the  plan  of  the  work  confined  to  the  natural  beauties  of  our  country.  It  includes,  moreover, 
the  various  aspects  impressed  on  it  by  civilization.  It  will  give  views  of  our  cities  and  towns,  character- 
istic scenes  of  human  activity  on  our  rivers  and  lakes,  and  will  often  associate  with  the  places  delineated, 
whatever  of  American  life  and'  habits  may  possess  the  picturesque  element. 

The  descriptions  which  form  the  letter- press  of  this  woi-k  are  necessarily  from  different  pens,  since 
they  were  to  be  obtained  from  those  who  had  personally  some  knowledge  of  the  places  described.  As 
for  the  illustrations,  they  were  made  in  almost  every  instance  by  artists  sent  by  the  publishers  for  the 
purpose.  Photographs,  however  accurate,  lack  the  spirit  and  personal  quality  which  the  accomplished 
painter  or  draughtsman  infuses  into  h.s  work.  The  engravings  here  presented  may  with  reason  claim 
for  "  Picturesque  America."  in  addition  to  the  fidelity  of  the  delineations,  that  they  possess  spirit, 
tinimation,  and  beauty,  which  give  to  the  work  of  the  artist  a  value  higher  than  could  be  derived  from 
mere  topographical  accuracy. 

The  letter-press  has  passed  under  my  revision,  but  to  the  zeal  and  diligence  of  Mr.  Oliver  B.  Buncc, 
who  has  made  the  getting  up  of  this  work  a  labor  of  love,  the  credit  of  obtaining  the  descriptions  from 
different  quarters  is  due.  To  his  well-instructed  taste  also  the  pubhc  will  owe  what  constitutes  the  prin- 
cipal value  of  the  work,  the  selection  of  subjects,  the  employment  of  skilful  artists,  and  the  general  ar- 
rangement of  the  contents. 

William  Cullen  Bryant. 


:h  and  of  length 
;  no  record  save 
tion  the  scenery 
1,  in  those  tracts 


lo  not  mean  to 
not  repeat  her- 
t  a  glance  that 
iiirroiinded,  and 
difference.  So, 
ebanon,  he  wcl! 
utlincs  of  their 
jnoniy. 
such  an  abun- 
flourish  in  our 
istrious  by  their 
s  of  which  are 
y  has  within  its 

0  assert  that  a 

1  readers  more 
d  photographs, 
of  the  Hudson, 
e  places  which 
iiarming  scenes, 

public  through 
superior  excel- 
Bociations,  and, 
les  which  lie  in 

ides,  moreover, 
wns,  character- 
ices  delineated, 

ent  pens,  since 
described.  As 
Dlishers  for  the 
e  accomplished 
1  reason  claim 
'  possess  spirit, 
e  derived  from 

•liver  B.  Bunce, 
ascriptions  from 
litutes  the  prin- 
:hc  general  ar- 

N  Bryant. 


CONTENTS,    VOLUME    FIRST. 


SUBJF.CT. 

ON  THE  COAST  OF   MAINE. 

ST.    JOHN'S    ANU    OCKLAWAHA    RIVERS, 
FLORIDA. 

UP  AND  DOWN  THE   COr.UMBIA. 

LOOKOUT   MOUNTAIN    AND    THE   TENNES 
SEE. 

RICHMOND,    SCENIC    AND   HISTORIC. 

NATURAL  BRIDGE,  VIRGINIA. 

[DELAWARE  WATER-GAP. 

fMAUCH   CHUNK. 

ON   THE   SAVANNAH. 

I THE  FRENCH   BROAD. 

JTHE  WHITE  MOUNTAINS. 

pEVERSINK   HIGHLANDS. 

1ST.   AUGUSTINE,   FLORIDA. 

ICHARLESTON  AND   ITS   SUBURBS. 

IWEYKR'S   CAVE,  VIRGINIA. 

[scenes  ON   THE  BRANDY  WINE. 

:UMBERLAND  GAP. 

fWATKINS   GLEN. 

|SCENES   IN   EASTERN   LONG   ISLAND. 

THE  LOWER  MISSISSIPPI. 

iIACKINAC. 

?UR  GREAT  NATIONAL   PARK. 


» 

AUTHOR. 

ARTIST. 

PAGE 

0.    B.    BUNCE. 

Ifarry   Fcnn. 

I 

/ERS 

'  >    T.    B.    Thorpk. 

Harry   J'liiii. 

'7 

L.    J.    G.     RUNKLK. 

A'.   Swain    GiffbrJ. 

31 

VNEJ 

'    I    0.    B.    Bu\-CE. 

Harry   Fcnn. 

Ss 

J.    R.    Tho.mpson. 

Harry  Fcnn, 

70 

John  Estf.n  Cooke. 

Harry    Fcnn. 

83 

J.     E.     RlNGWAI.T. 

Gr-anvillc  Pc-       s. 

89 

0.     'i.     BUNCi. 

Harry   Fciiu. 

109 

• 

W.  V.  Thompson. 

Harry   I'cnn. 

"5 

I".   G.   DE  Fontaine. 

Harry   Fcnn. 

'32 

Susan  N.  Carteu. 

Harry   Fcnn. 

150 

0.   B.   Bunce. 

Granville  Perkins. 

'73 

Robert  Carter. 

Harry   Fcnn. 

■S3 

0.   B.   Bunce. 

Harry   Fcnn. 

198 

Sallie  a.  Brock. 

Harry   Fcnn. 

212 

0.   B.   Bunce. 

Granville  Pcriins. 

220 

F.  G.   i)e  Fontaine. 

Harry   Fcnn. 

232 

O.   B.   Bunce. 

Ifarry   Fcnn. 

238 

0.   B.    Bunce. 

Harry   Fan. 

248 

T.  B.   Thorpe. 

.t/frct  R.    IVami. 

262 

Constance  F.  Woolson. 

J.    1\    Woodward. 

279 

0.   B.    BuNc;. 

Harry  Fcnn. 

292 

i 


VI 


CONTENTS,    VOLUME    FIRST. 


!  I 


SUBJECT. 

HARPER'S   FERRY. 

SCENES  IN   VIRGINIA. 

NEWPORT. 

WEST  VIRGINIA. 

LAKE  SUPERIOR. 

NORTHERN  CALIFORNIA. 

NIAGARA. 

TRENTON   FALLS. 

THE  YOSEMITE   FALLS 

PROVIDENCE  AND   VICINITY. 

SOUTH   SHORE  OF   LAKE  ERIE. 

ON   THE   COAST    OF   C'ALU  ORNIA. 


AUTHOR. 

ARTIST. 

page 

J.  C.  Cappentf.r. 

Granville  Perkins. 

317 

G.   W.   Bagby. 

IV.   /..   Shcppard. 

337 

T.   M.   Clarke. 

C.  GriswoM,  and  othcrr. 

358 

D.   H.   Strother. 

IV.   L.   Skeppard. 

377 

Constance  F.  Woolson. 

William   Hart. 

393 

R.  E.   Garczynski. 

R.    Swain    Gijford. 

412 

R.  E.  Garczynski. 

Harry  Finn. 

432 

R.   E.   Garczynski. 

Harry  Fcnn. 

452 

James  D.   Smill.:. 

James   D.    Smillie. 

465 

T.   M.   Clarke. 

W.    H.    Gibson. 

496 

Constance  F.  Woolson. 

J.   D.    IVt'od-uard. 

510 

R.   E.  Garczynski. 

R.   Swain    Gifford. 

550 

PAGE 

I'itis. 

317 

ard. 

337 

and  others. 

358 

ard. 

377 

t. 

393 

fford. 

4<2 

432 

«2 

tilHr. 

465 

II. 

496 

mrd. 

510 

ffi>rd. 

550 

LIST   OF    ENGRAVINGS    ON    STEEL, 


VOLUME     FIKST. 


Sl'DJECT 

NIAGARA. 

CASCADE  IN  VIRGINIA. 
MOUNT  DESERT,  COAST  OF   MAINE. 
ON   THE  COAST  OK   FLOR'DA. 
MOUNT  HOOD,   FROM   COLUMBIA   RIVER. 
RICHMOND.   FROM   THE   JAMES. 
''•'  DELAWARE   WATER-GAP. 
SMOKY  MOUNTAINS,  EASTERN   TENNESSEE. 
MOUNT  WASHINGTON   ROAD. 
THE   HIGHLANDS  OF   THE   NEVERSINK. 
L CUMBERLAND  GAP. 
CITY  OF   MOW  ORLEANS. 
lui'l'ER   FALLS  OF   THE   YELLOWSTONE. 
hiAKPFK'S   FKKKY,   UY   MOONLKHIT. 
hui;  CHICKAHOMINY. 
[liAl'IISM   BAY,   LAKE   SUPERIOR. 
MOUNT  SHASTA. 

^IIKROR   LAKE,  VOSEMIt::   VALLEY. 
"ITY  OF   PROVIDENCE. 


AHTISr. 

KNGRAVrR 

FACE  TAGC. 

Harrv  Ffnn. 

-V.    V.  Hunt. 

Frontispiece. 

Harrv  Fenn. 

R.    lliHshelwood. 

ntu 

-page. 

Harry  Fenn. 

A'.  Hiiishehuood. 

F 

CE        I 

Harrv   Fenn. 

K.   HiiisliA-wcod. 

17 

R.   Swain  Gifforp. 

R.  Hinshdwood. 

49 

Harrv   Fenn. 

A'.   liin.^hcl'WOiid. 

73 

Oanvii.i.e  Perkins. 

A'.   IlinsliduH'fd. 

9« 

Homer   Martin. 

A'.   Ilinsheluvod. 

'32 

Harry   Finn. 

S.    i:   l/nnt. 

>5' 

Granvilie  Perkins. 

/('.    Wflhtood. 

176 

Harrv  Fenn. 

.v.    /'.   Hunt. 

-^ss 

Alfrfii  R.  Waud. 

P.   (i.    Tlionifison. 

565 

Thomas  Moran. 

S.    V.   Hunt. 

297 

C.ranviii'.  Perkins. 

K.    Hinshihcood. 

328 

W.     L.    .SheI'CARIi. 

W    Wtnuood. 

357 

William  Hart, 

R.  IlinsktlwooJ. 

393 

James  D.  Smimie 

I'..   /'.   Ht.indiird. 

424 

Harrv  Fenn. 

S.    i:    /funl. 

465 

A.  C.  Warren. 

R.   J/iHsAt,wik>d. 

496 

--^°"'-'-       -■  <._ 


tV 


M 


vm 


.L/Sr   OF   ENGRAVINGS    ON  STEEL. 


SUBJECT. 

INDIAN   ROCK,  NARRAGANSETT. 
CITY   OF   BUFFALO. 
CITY   OF   CLEVELAND. 
CITY   OF   DETROIT. 
THE   GOLDEN    GATE. 


ARTIST. 

engraver.                face  page. 

A.  S.  Hazeltine. 

5.    V.   Hum. 

509 

A.  C.  Warren. 

W.    n'eUstood. 

520 

/,.  C.  Warren. 

R.   Hinshelwood. 

529 

A.  C.  Warren. 

R.  Hinshelwood. 

545 

James  D.  Smillie. 

E.   P.  Brandard. 

560 

./ 


FACE  PAGE. 
509 
$20 
529 

545 
560 


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17° 


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1 


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1 


1 


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X 


^ 


PICTURESQUE   AMERICA. 


Caslle    Mead,   Mcniiil   Desert. 


ON    THF.    COAST    OF     MAINE 


WITH     ILLUSTRATIONS     IIV     1L\KKV     KENN. 


T^llI'^  island  of  Mount  Desert,  on  the  coast  of  Maine,  unites  a  striivinfj  fri-ouj)  of  pictu- 

rcscjue  features.     It  is  surrounded  by  seas,  crowned  with  mountains,  and  emhosoined 

nil  lakes     I*..-,  shores  are  i)old  and  rocky  cliffs,  upon  which  the  breakers  for  countless  cen- 

jrics  have  wrought  tiieir  ceaseless  attrition.     It  affords  the  only  instance  alonp  our  Atlantic 

Qusi  where   mountains  stand   in   close   neijihborhood  to  the  sea;    here  in  one  picture  are 

1 


fill— ■■■iiria— aan 


PICTURESQUE    AMERICA. 


beetling  cliffs  with  the  roar  of  restless  breakers,  far  stretches  of  bay  dotted  with  green  islands,  | 
placid  mountain -lakes  mirroring  the  mountain -precipices  that  tower  above  them,  rugged  I 
gorges  clothed  with  primitive  forests,  and  sheltered  coves  where  the  sea-waves  ripple  on  the  | 
shcllv  beach.  Upon  the  shores  are  masses  of  cyclopean  rocks  iicaped  one  upon  another  I 
in  titanic  disorder,  and  strange  caverns  of  marvellous  beauty ;  on  the  mountains  are  fright-  | 
ful  precipices,  wonderful  prospects  of  far-extending  sea,  and  mazes  of  land  and  water,  and  ; 
magnihcent  forests  of  fir  and  spruce.  It  is  a  union  of  all  these  supreme  fascinations  of  | 
scenery,  such  as  Nature,  munificent  as  she  is,  rarely  affords.  | 

Mount  Desert  is  situated  one  hundred  and  ten  miles  east  of  Portland,  in  Frenchman's  I 
Bay,  wliicii  stretches  on  the  eastern  and  western  sides  of  the  island  in  a  wide  expanse,  but  | 
narrows  at  the  upper  or  northern  end,  where  a  bridge  establishes  permanent  connection  with  \ 
the  main-land.     The  greatest  length  of  th"  island  is  fourteen  miles,  and  its  extreme  width  | 
eight,  the  area  being  a  hundred  square  miles.     Nearly  midway  it  is  pierced  l)y  an  inlet  of  the  \ 
sea  known  as  Somes's  Sound,  which  is  seven  miles  in  length.     It  includes  three  townshijis, 
Tremont,  Mount  Desert,  and  Eden,  and  possesses  several  harbors,  the  best  known  of  which 
are  Southwest,  Northeast,  and  Bar  Harbor.     The  latter  is  on  the  eastern  siiore,  oj)posite  the    '-, 
Porcupine  Islands,  and  derives  its  name  from  a  sandy  bar,  visible  only  at  low  water,  which 
connects  Mount  Desert  with  the  largest  and  northernmost  of  tlie  Porcupine  group.     Tlu 
village  at  this  hari)or  is  known  by  the  name  of  East  Eden,  and  here  tourists  and  summer  ^ 
visitors  princi[)ally  al)ide.     The  mountains  arc  upon  the  soutiiern  half  of  the  island,  and  lie  'I 
in  seven  ridges,  running  nearly  north  and  south.      There   are    thirteen    distinct   peaks,  tlie  I 
highest  of   which  is  known  as  Green   Mountain  ;   and  tlie  next,  which    is    .separated    from  1 
Green  Mountain  by  a  dee|),  narrow  gorge,  is  called  Newi)ort.      The  western  sides  of  the  1 
range    slope   gradually  upward  to  the  summits,  but  on  the  east   all   of   them    descend    bv 
steep  |)recipices,  four  of  them  into  lakes  and  one  into  Somes's  Sound. 

The  best  view  of  the  mountains  is  from  the  sea.  The  steamer  from  Portland,  which 
lands  at  Bar  Harbor  twice  a  week,  approaches  the  island  at  noonday,  when  the  landsc;!|ie, 
under  the  direct  rays  of  the  sun,  possesses  the  least  charm,  ihit  no  oilier  situation  affords 
so  fine  a  command  of  the  range,  although,  from  this  view,  tlie  rocks  and  cliffs  of  the  slioiv 
lying  under  the  shadows  of  tlie  mountains,  appear  to  have  but  little  magnitude  or  pictures{|iK 
value.  If  it  so  chance,  as  it  did  with  tlie  writer,  that  tlelays  bring  the  steamer  along  the  coast 
when  the  sun  is  sinking  behind  the  hills,  a  picture  of  singular  beauty  is  i)resented.  Thi 
mountains  then  lift  in  gloomy  grandeur  against  the  light  of  the  weste/n  sky,  and,  with  ihi  -. 
movement  of  the  steamer,  break  every  moment  into  new  combinations  of  rare  beautv.  Nnu 
they  lie  massed,  one  against  another,  in  long,  undulating  lines,  now  open  into  distinct  groupv 
now  Green  Mountain  fronts  the  sea  with  all  its  stem  majesty,  now  Newport  rises  apparent K 
from  the  very  water's  edge  in  one  abrupt  cliff  a  thousand  feel  in  height.  It  is  a  dissolvin;; 
view  that  for  an  hour  or  more  presents  a  su|terb  succession  of  scenic  efifects,  which  tl 
spectator  watches  with  entrancing  interest,  until  he  discovers  the  steamer  gliding  by  green 


:1 


ON    THE    COAST    OF   MAINE. 


green  islands, 
them,  rugged 
ripple  on  tlic 
upon  another 
ins  are  friglit- 
id  water,  and 
ascinations  of 

1  iMenchman's 
e  expanse,  but 
jnnection  willi 
extreme  width 
an  inlet  of  the 
iree  townships, 
lown  of  whieli 
c,  opposite  tiic 
w  water,  whieli 
le  group.     The 
ts  and  sunimn 
3  island,  and  lie 
inct  peaks,  tlu 
separated    from 
rn  sides  of  the 
m    descend    hv 


'ortland,  wliich 
tlie  landsciipe, 
situation  affords 
s  of  the  sliorc, 
or  picturcsciuc 
along  the  coast 
resented.     The 
and,  with  tiie 
beauty.     Now 
istinet  groups; 
ises  apiiarenllv 
is  a  dissolving 
■cts,  which   tin' 
iiiing  by  green 


s 


islands  and  amid  fleets  of  gayly-bannered 
yachts  on  its  approach  to  the  shore.  The 
village  of  East  Eden,  while  possessing  a 
charming  lookout  over  the  bay,  is  without 
one  feature  of  beauty.  It  is  built  upon  a 
treeless  plain,  and  consists  for  the  most  part 
of  a  group  of  small  white  houses,  rajiidly 
extemporized  for  the  accommodation  of 
summer  boarders.  Every  structure,  with 
the  exception  of  a  few  cottages  erected  by 
wealthy  gentlemen  of  Boston,  stands  with- 
out trees,  garden,  or  other  pleasant  sur- 
roundings. The  place  is  as  conspicuously 
inexact  in  its  cognomen  as  the  island  it- 
self is ;  one  wonders  whether  the  notion 
of  naming  places  by  their  contraries  is  a 
legitimate  Down-East  institution.  In  re- 
gard to  the  name  of  the  island,  an  attempt 
is  made  to  escape  the  inconsistency  of  the 
appellation  by  shifting  the  accent  from  the 
first  to  the  last  syllable.  The  primary  mean- 
ing of  the  designation,  however,  requires  the 
accentuation  on  the  first  syllable.  It  was 
named  by  the  F"rench,  who  were  the  dis- 
coverers of  this  coast,  "  Mont  Dcfsert,"  as 
ex])rcssive  of  the  wild  and  savage  aspects 
of  the  mountains  and  cliffs  that  front  the 
sea. 

Two  purposes  of  special  interest  fill 
the  mind  of  the  visitor  as  soon  as  he 
finds  himself  satisfactorily  domiciled  at  East 
Eden.  One  is,  to  explore  the  long  series 
of  rocks  and  cliffs  on  the  shore  ;  the  oth- 
er, to  ascend  Green  Mountain,  and  enjoy 
the  superb  view  from  its  "  thunder-smitten 
brow."  These  respects  to  the  scenery  of  the 
islanci  having  been  paid,  his  subsequent  pur- 
pose is  likely  tq  be  fishing  and  boating. 
He  will  be  anxious  to  try  his  hand  at  the 


4  PICTURF.SQU]-    AMERICA. 

splendid  trout  with  whicii  tiic  lakes  are  said  to  abound,  and  to  go  far  down  the  bay 
for  catches  of  cod  and  haddock,  which  here  are  of  large  dimensions  and  in  great  abun- 
dance. The  bays,  inlets,  and  sounds  of  the  coast  of  Maine  afford  superb  resources  for 
the  yachtman.  The  coast  seems  to  have  crumbled  off  from  the  main-land  in  innumer- 
able islands,  large  and  small,  so  that  there  is  a  vast  area  of  inland-sea  navigaticm,  whicli, 
with  infinite  variety  of  scene,  gives  ample  space  for  boating.  A  yachting-party  might 
spend  a  summer  delightfully  in  threading  the  mazes  of  this  "hundred-harbored  Maine," 
as  VVhittier  describes  it.  Abandoning  the  pleasant  vision  of  such  a  summer,  let  us  for 
the  present  remember  that  our  special  object  is  to  visit  and  depict  the  scenery  of  Mount 
Desert. 

The  several  points  along  the  coast  to  which  the  visitor's  attention  is  directed  are  the 
cliffs  known  as  "  The  Ovens,"  which  lie  some  six  or  seven  miles  up  the  bay  ;  and  "  Schooner 


jN-fO-, 


..^  J  ' 


View  of   iMount-Desert   iMountains  frum  Saulsbury-Cove  Road. 


Head,"  "Great  Head,"  and  "Otter-Creek  Cliffs,"  lying  on  the  seaward  shores  of  the  islan.l. 
It  will  fall  more  duly  in  order  to  proceed  first  to  "The  Ovens,"  which  may  be  reached  In 
boat  or  by  a  pleasant  drive  of  seven  or  eight  miles. 

With  a  one-armed  veteran  for  an  escort,  Mr.  Fenn  and  the  writer  set  forth  for  :i 
scene  where  we  were  promised  many  charming  ciiaracteristios  for  pen  and  pencil.  It  was 
necessary  to  time  our  visit  to  "The  Ovens" — the  nomenclature  of  Mount  Desert  is  pain- 
fully out  of  harmony  with  the  scenes  it  verbally  lii)els — so  as  to  reach  the  beach  at  low 
tide.  The  cliffs  can  be  approached  only  by  boat  at  high  tide,  and  the  picture  at  tiiis 
juncture  loses  some  of  its  pleasing  features. 

The  Mount-Desert  roads  for  the  most  part  are  in  good  condition,  and  have  many  at- 
tractions. Tiic  forests  are  crowded  with  evergreens,  and  the  firs  and  the  spruce-trees  mar- 
shal in  such  array  on  the.  hill-sides  that,  witii  their  slender,  spear-like  tops,  they  look  like 
armies  of  lancers.     The    landscape    borrows  from    these   evergreens  an  Alpine  tone,  which 


\vn  the  bay 
I  great  abun- 
resources  for 
in  innumc'i- 
jation,  which, 
r-party  might 
)ored  Maine," 
or,  let  us  for 
.■ry  of  Mount    -| 

■ected  are  the 
nd  "  Schooner 


of  the  island, 
be  reached  'nv 

t  forili  for  11 
lencil.  It  was 
desert  is  pain- 
bcacli  at  low 
ticture  at  tliis 

have  many  at- 
uce-trees  mar- 
hey  look  like 
le  tone,  which 


THE    CLIFFS     NEAH     "THE     OVENS,' 


PICTURESQUE    AMERICA. 


'I: 


groups  of  pedestrians  for  the  mountains,  armed  with  alpenstocks,  notably  enhance.  The 
fir,  spruce,  pine,  and  arhor-vitae,  attain  splendid  proportions ;  the  slender  larch  is  in  places 
alsj  abundant,  and  a  few  sturdy  hemlocks  now  and  then  vary  the  i)icture.  The  forest- 
scenes  are,  many  of  them,  of  singular  beauty,  and  in  our  long  drives  about  the  island 
we  discovered  many  a  strongly-marked  forest-group. 

At  one  point  on  our  drive  to  "The  Ovens,"  the  road,  as  it  ascends  a  hill  near  Sauls- 
bury  Cove,  commands  a  fine,  distant  view  of  the  mountains,  which  Mr  Fenn  rapidly 
sketched.  Clouds  of  fog  were  drifting  along  their  tops,  now  obscuring  and  now  reveal- 
ing them,  and  adding  often  a  vagueness  and  mystery  to  their  forms  which  lent  them  an 
additional  charm. 

The  cliffs  at  "The  Ovens"  contrast  happily  with  the  rocks  on  the  sea-front  of  the 
island  in  possessing  a  delicious  (piiet  and  repose.  Tiie  waters  ripple  calmly  at  their  feet, 
and  only  when  winds  are  high  do  the  waves  chafe  and  fret  at  the  rocks.  Here  the  perpen- 
dicular pile  of  rock  is  crowned  by  growths  of  trees  that  ascend  in  exact  line  with  the  wall, 
easting  their  shadows  on  the  beach  below.  Grass  and  flowers  overhang  the  edge ;  at 
points  in  the  wall  of  rock,  tufts  of  grass  and  nodding  harebells  grow,  forming  pleasant 
pictu;-es  in  contrast  with  the  many-tinted  rocks,  in  the  crevices  of  which  their  roots  have 
found  nourishment.  The  whole  effect  of  the  scene  here  is  one  of  delicious  charm.  The 
wide  and  sunny  bay,  the  boats  that  glide  softly  and  swiftly  ujron  its  surface,  the  peaceful 
shores,  the  cliff  crowned  wich  its  green  forest,  make  up  a  picture  of  great  sweetness  and 
beauty.  "  The  Ovens "  are  cavities  worn  by  the  tides  in  the  rock.  Some  are  only  slight 
excavations,  such  as  those  shown  in  Mr.  Fenn's  drawing,  but  a  little  northward  of  the  spot 
are  caves  of  a  magnitude  sufiicient  to  hold  thirty  or  forty  people.  The  rocks  are  mainly  of 
l)ink  feldspar,  but  within  the  caves  the  sea  has  painted  them  in  various  tints  of  rare  beauty, 
such  as  would  delight  the  eye  and  tax  the  skill  and  patience  of  a  painter  to  reproduce.  The 
shores  here,  indeed,  supply  almost  exhaustless  material  for  the  sketch-book  of  the  artist. 

To  this  spot,  at  hours  when  the  tide  permits,  pleasure-seekers  come  in  great  numbers.  It 
is  a  favorite  picnic-ground  for  the  suinmer  residents  at  East  Eden,  whose  graceful  pleasure- 
boats  give  animation  to  the  picture.  The  visitors  picnic  in  the  caves,  pass  through  the  arch- 
way of  a  projecting  cliff,  which  some  designate  as  "  \'ia  Mala,"  wander  through  the  forests 
that  crown  the  cliffs,  pluck  the  wild-roses  and  harebells  that  overhang  the  precipice,  and  roam 
up  and  down  the  beach  in  search  of  the  strange  creatures  of  the  sea  that  on  these  rocky 
sho-es  abound.  Star-fishes,  anemones,  sea-urchins,  and  other  strange  and  beautiful  forms  of 
marine  life,  make  grand  aquaria  of  the  caves  all  along  the  coast,  and  add  a  marked  relish  to 
the  enjoyment  of  the  explorer. 

From  the  quiet  beauty  of  "  The  Ovens  "  to  the  turbulence  of  the  seaward  shore  there  is 
a  notable  change.  Our  next  point  visited  was  "  Schooner  Head,"  which  lies  four  or  five  miles 
southward  from  East  F^den,  and  looks  out  on  the  wide  Atlantic.  "  Schooner  Head"  is  so 
named  from  the  fancy  that  a  mass  of  white  rock  on  its  sea-face,  viewed  at  a  proper  distance. 


m 


ON    THE    COAST   OF   MAINE. 


hancc.      The 

I  is  in  places 
The   forest- 

iit  the   ishind 

II  near  Sauls- 
Fcnn    rapidl) 

I  now  reveal- 
lent  them  an 

i-front  of  the 
at  their  feet, 
re  the  pcrpen- 
with  the  wall, 
the  edge ;    at 
min<j;  pleasant 
;ir  roots  havi 
;  charm.     The 
;,  the  peaceful 
sweetness  and 
ire  only  slight 
d  of  the  spot 
arc  mainly  of 
of  rare;  beauty, 
Hoduce.     The 
f  the  artist. 

numbers.  It 
ceful  plcasure- 
ough  the  arch- 
Ldi  the  forests 
ce,  and  roam 
n  these  rocky 
tiful  forms  of 
arked  relish  to 

shore  there  is 
r  or  five  miles 

Head"  is  so 
oper  distance, 


.^  has  the  appearance  of  a  small  schooner.  There  is  J  tradition  that,  in  the  War  of  1812,  a 
'  British  frigate  sailing  by  ran  in  and  fired  upon  it,  under  the  impression  that  it  was  an  Ameri- 
.'  can  vessel  h^igging  the  shore.      "Schooner  Head"  derives   its   |)rincipal   interest   iiom  the 

'--,,  "  S|)outing  Horn,"  a  wide  chasm  in  the  cliff,  which  extends  down  to  tiie  water  and  opens  to 
„  the  sea  through  a  small  archway  below  high-water  mark.     At  low  water  the  arch  may  be 


Great    Head. 

Ireuched  over  the  slippery,  weed-covered  rocks,  and  the  chasm  within  ascended  by  means  of 

lunccrtain  footholds  in  the  sides  of  the  rocky  wall.     A  few  adventurous  tourists  have  accom- 

lishcd  this  feat,  but  it  is  a  very  dangerous  one.     If  the  foot  .should  slip  on  the  smooth,  briny 

^(ick,  and  the  adventurer  glide  into  the  water,  escape  would  be  almost  impossible.     Tiie  waves 

ft'oiild  suck  him  down  into  their  depths — now  toss  him  upon  rocks,  whose  slippery  surface 

iMiiild  resist  every  attempt  io  grasp,  then  drag  him  back  into  their  foaming  embrace.     When 


8 


PICT  I  'RESQ  U  '£  AMERICA. 


the  tide  comes  in,  the  breakers  dash  with  great  violence  ihnuigh  the  archway  described,  and 
hurl  themselves  with  resounding  thunder  against  the  wall  beyond,  sending  their  spray  far  up 
the  sides  of  the  chasm.  But,  when  a  storm  prevails,  then  the  scene  is  one  of  extreme  grand- 
eur. The  breaker?  hu-'  themselves  with  such  wild  fury  through  the  cavernous  opening 
agains*  the  walls  of  rock,  that  their  spray  is  thrown  a  hundred  fe  .t  above  the  opening  at  tiie 
top  of  the  cliff,  as  if  a  vast  geyser  were  extemporized  on  the  shore.  The  scene  is  inspiriting 
and  terrible.  \'isitors  to  Mount  Desert  but  half  understanil  or  ajipreciate  its  wonders  if  they 
do  nut  visit  the  cliffs  in  a  storm.  On  the  softest  summer  day  the  angry  but  subdued  roar 
with  which  the  breakers  ceaselessly  assault  the  rocks  gives  a  vague  intimation  of  what  their 
fury  is  when  the  gale  lashes  tiiem  into  tumult.  At  such  times  tliey  cast  themselves  against 
the  cliffs  with  a  violence  that  threatens  to  beat  down  the  rocky  barriers  and  subi  erge  the 
land;  their  spray  deluges  the  abutments  to  their  very  to])s,  and  the  thunder  of  their  angry 
crash  against  the  rock  may  be  heard  for  miles.  Hut  at  other  times  the  ceaseless  war  they 
make  upon  ihe  sliori'  seems  to  be  one  of  defeat.  The  waves  come  in  full,  sweeping  charge 
upon  the  rocks,  but  hastily  fall  back,  broken  and  discomfited,  giving  place  to  fresh  and 
hopeful  levies,  who  repeat  the  first  assault,  and,  like  their  j)redecessors,  are  hurled  back  de- 
feated. The  war  's  endless,  and  yet  bv  slow  degrees  the  sea  gains  upon  its  grim  and  silent 
enemy.  It  undermines,  it  makes  channels,  it  gnaws  caverns,  it  eats  out  chasms,  it  wears 
away  little  'y  little  the  surface  of  the  stone,  it  sumir.ons  the  aid  of  frost  and  of  heat  to  dis- 
lodge and  pull  down  great  fragments  of  the  masonry,  it  grinds  into  sand,  it  gashes  with 
scars,  and  it  will  never  rest  until  it  has  ilragged  down  the  opposing  walls  into  its  d<Miths, 

"(ireat  Head,'"  two  miles  southward  of  "Schooner  Head,"  is  considered  the  highest  head- 
land on  the  island.  It  is  a  liold,  i)rojeeting  mass,  with  at  its  base  deep  gashes  worn  by  the 
waves.  A  view  of  its  grim,  massive  front  is  obtained  by  descending  a  broken  mass  of  cyclo- 
pean  rocks  a  little  below  the  cliff,  where  at  low  tide,  on  the  sea-washed  bowlders,  the  cliff  tow- 
ers above  vou  in  a  majestic  mass. 

People  in  search  of  the  j)ictures(|uc  should  understand  the  importance  of  selecting  suit- 
able points  of  view.  The  beauty  or  impressiveness  of  a  jiieture  sonietimes  greatly  depends 
on  this.  It  is  often  a  matter  of  search  to  discover  the  jjoint  from  which  an  object  has  its 
best  expression  ;  and  |)!obably  only  those  of  intuitive  artistic  tastes  are  enabled  to  sec  all 
the  beauties  ot  a  landscape,  which  others  lose  in  ignorance  of  how  to  select  the  most  ad- 
vantageous staiiding-plaee,  To  the  cold  and  indifferent.  Nature  has  no  charms ;  she  reveals 
herself  only  to  those  who  surrender  their  hearts  to  her  intluence,  and  who  patiently  study 
her  aspects,  The  beauty  of  any  ol)ject  lies  partly  in  the  capacity  of  the  specti'  r  to  see  it, 
and  pi.rtly  in  his  ability  to  put  himself  where  the  form  and  color  impirss  the  senses  most 
effectively.  \ot  one  man  in  ten  discerns  half  the  beauty  of  a  tree  or  of  a  |)ile  of  rocks,  and 
hence  tliose  who  faii  lo  discover  in  a  landscape  the  charm  others  describe  in  it  should 
question  their  own  i)()wer  of  a|>preciat ion  rather  than  the  accuracy  of  the  delineation.  Tlic 
shores  oi  Mount   Desert  must  be  studied  with  this  appreciation  and  taste,  if  their  beauties 


described,  and 
ir  spray  far  up 
xtrcme  grand- 
nous   opening 
openinjT  at  tlie 
e  is  inspiritin<; 
vonders  if  they 
t  subdued  roar 
n  of  what  their 
nselves  a<iainst 
subi  crge  the 
of  their  angry 
iseless  war  they 
weeping  charge 
e  to  fresh  and 
lurled  back  de- 
grim  and  silent 
liasins,  it  weais  . 
1  of  heat  to  di'--  i 
it  gashes  witli  |p 
into  its  il<-ptlis, 
le  iiigliest  head- 
lies  worn  by  the  f, 
1  mass  of  cyelii- 
rs,  tiu'  clilT  tov\- 

If  selecting  suit- 
greatly  depends 
Im  oliject  ha*--  if- 
liMt'd  to  see  ;iil 
I    liie  most  ad- 
[nis ;  she  reveals 
jKitiently  study  w 
■ctif    r  to  sec  it,  | 
In-  senses  most 
lie  of  rocks,  iiiii  ,^ 
|l>e  in  it  slumlil 
lineation.     Tin 
if  their  beaulio 


^  > 


^:.' 


K  i 


THE     "9HOUTIN11     HOHN    '     IN      \     MIDHM 
« 


Ill 


lO 


PICTURESQUE  AMERICA 


are  to  be  understood.  No  indifferent  half  glance  will  suffice.  Go  to  the  edge  of  the  clilTs 
and  look  down  ;  go  below,  where  they  lift  in  tall  escarpments  above  you  ;  sit  in  the  shadows 
of  their  massive  presence ;  study  the  infinite  variety  of  form,  texture,  and  color,  and  learn  to 
read  all  the  different  phases  of  sentiment  their  scarred  fronts  have  to  express.  When  all 
this  is  done,  be  assured  you  will  discover  that  "  sermons  in  stones "  was  not  a  mere  fancv 
of  the  poet. 

Ore  of  the  characteristics  of  Mount  Desert   is  the  abundunce  of  fog.      In  July  and 
August  especially  it  seriously  interferes  with  the  pleasure  of  the  lourist.     It  often  happen'; 
that,  for  several  days  in  succession,  mountain,  headland,  and  sea,  are  wrapped  in  an  impene- 
trable mist,  and  all  the  charms  of  the  landscape  obscured.     But  the  fog  has  frequenth  a 
grace  and  charm  of  its  own.     There  are  days  when  it  lies  in  impenetrable  banks  far  out 
at  sea,  with  occasional  incursion'   upon    the  shore  that  are  full  of  interest.      At  one  houi 
the  sun  is  shining,  when  all  at  once  the  mist  may  be  discerned  creeping  in  ovr  the  sur 
face  of  the  water,  ascending  in  rapid  drifts  the  sides  of  the  mountains,  enveloping  one  by 
one  the  islands  of  the  bay,  until  the  whole  landscape  is  blotted  from  vii'v.      In   another! 
hour  it  is  broken ;  tlie  mountains  pierce  the  shadowy  veil,  the  islands  reappear  in  the  bay, 
and  the  landscape  glows  once  more  in  the  sunshine.     It  Is  a  raie  pleasure  to  sit  on  tht 
-ocky  headlands,  on  the  seaward  side  of  the  island,  on  a  day  when  the  fog  and  sun   eon- 
tend  for  supremacy,  and  watch  the  pictures  that  the  fog  makes  and  unmakes.     vSometinn- 
the  fog  skirts  along  the  base  of  the    islands  in  the  bay,  leaving   a  long,  slender   line  di 
tree-tops  painted  against  the  blue  ether,  looking  like  forests  hung  in  the  sky.     Then  a  m- 
sel  may  be  seen  sailing   through  a  fog-bank,  now  looking  like  a  shadowy  ghost  (loaiiiu 
through  the  mist,  when  suddenly  its  topsails  flash  in  the  light,  like  the  white  wings  nl 
huge    bird.      In  another  moment  the  fog  shifts,  and  the  under  edge  of  the  mainsail  nr 
be  traced  in  a  line  of  silver,  while    al!  the  rest  of  the  vessel    is    in    tlie    deepest   shadow] 
Now  one   sail   glitters  a  l)riiliant  white,  and    the  fog  envelops   all    the  rest    of  the  V(ss(l 
The  pictures  thus  formed  vary  like  a  succession  of  dissolving  views,  and  often  jiroduce  tin! 
most    striking   and    uni(|ue   effects.      Sometimes   there   is   the    marvellous   exiiil>ition   ol 
mirage,  when  fleets  appear  sailing  through  the  air,  and,  as  described  by  W'iiittier— 


H  it 


"  Soiiictimos,  in  calms  of  dosiriR  day, 
They  w.itchcil  the  spcclral  mirage  play  ; 
Saw  Inw,  f;ir  islands.  Innmint;  tall  and  hi);''. 
And  ships,  with  upturned  keels,  sail  like  a  S' a  the  sky." 

The  fog-|)ictures  at  Mount  Desert  are  by  no  means  the  least  interesting   feature   of  i' 
strange  shore. 

Near  a  small  stream,  known  as  "Otter  (.'reek,"  deriving  its  name  frcim  the  otter  wliiill 
once  al)ounded  there,  are  a  succession  of  cliffs,  wiiieh  possess  characteristics  (juitc  distind 
from    those   already  described.      They  arc   more  remote   from   (he  village  than  "  Schoonej 


ON    THE    COAST   OF   MAINE. 


1 1 


Ige  of  the  cliffs 
in  the  shadows 
ur,  and  learn  to  j 
ress.     When  all  ] 
)t  a  mere  fancy 

r.      In  July  and 
t  often  happens] 
1  in  an  impene- 
has  frequently  a 
Ic  banks  far  out) 
At  one  houii 
in  ov'T  the  sur- 
velopinp;  one  by| 
'v.      In    anotki' 
ipear  in  the  bay, 
ire  to  ;;it  on  tin 
)g  and  sun   con- 
kes.     Sometinu^ 

slender   line  of 
iky.     Then  a  vi"- 
y  ghost  tloalini;^ 
.vhite  wings  of 
he  mainsail  nw; 

deepest  shadow; 
st  of  the  vtssclj 
)flen  produce  tl 

exiiiliition    t'f 
'Inttier — 


lead"  or  "Great  Head,"  but  the  drive  to  them  derives  great  interest  from  the  wild   and 

row  notch  betwe;>n  Green  and  Newport   Mountains,  thrrugli  which  the  road  lies  for  a 

or  two.     The  sides  of  the  mountains  are  high,  precipitous,  and  savagely  rugged.     The 

f)wer  base  of  each  is  covered  with  a  thick  and  tangled  forest-growtli  ;  half-way  up,  a  few 

iirled   and   fantastic  growths   struggle  for  place   amid   the   scarred   and    frowning  rocks, 


rhunder  Cave. 


i    feature    of  lli 

in  the  otter  v  l"i| 
lies  (juite   di^iin' 
tlian  "  Seht"iiu 


Ilk'  the  uf)per  heights  show  only  the  bare,  seamed,  and  riven  escarpments.     It  is  a  wild 

CI  lire,  inlcriur,  MO  doubt,  to  the  famous  Notch  of  the  White  Mountains,  but   possessing. 

twithstanding.  very  strong  and  impressive  features. 

At  "Otter-Creek  ClitTs"  we  set  out  in  search  of  what  is  known  as     Thunder  Cave." 

jftM  leaving   our  vehicL-,  we  had  a    long    but    supe.L  forest-walk  to  reach  it.    There  are 

iHTous  fine  birches  on  Mount  Desert,  and  more  than  jnce  we  saw  groups  of  these  trees 


12 


PTCTURESQUE    AMERICA. 


\m 


that  would  have  filled  any  aitist  with  delight,  and  especially  the  painter  VVhittredge,  whose  I 
birch-forests   are  so  famous.     Near  Great  Head   are  numerous   splendid   specimens  of  this 
tree,  whose  iiark,  of  yellow,  Indian  red,  and  gray,  afforded  delicious  contrasts  of  color.     On  I 
the  path  to  Thunder  Cave  we  noted  one  forest-picture  that  comes  vividly  back  to  mem- 
ory.     The  trees  were  n>ostly  evergreen,  and  the  surface  of  the  ground  covered  with  out- 1 
cropping   rocks   and   tangled   roots,   all   richly  covered   with   mosses.      The    broken    light 
through   the    dark    branches,  the   tint   of   the  fallen  piue-leaves,  the   many-colored  mosses 
which  painted  every  rock  in  infinite  variety  of  hue,  the  low,  green   branches  of  the  fir  and] 
the  spruce,  all    made    up   a   picture  of 
ripe  and  singular  beauty. 

Thunder    Cave    proved    to    be 
long,     low     galler)',     running      inward 
amid    a    great   mass   of  wild,   tunil)led, 
and  distorted  rocks.      Up   through   the 
gallery   the    waves    rushed   with    eager 
impetuosity,    and    dashed    against    tli 
hollow     cavity    within     with     a     crasi 
which,   as    it    reverberated    among    the 
overhanging     rocks,    closely    resembled 
thunder.      In    fair   weatlier    the    sound 
is   apparent    only   when    near,   but    w 
were    assured    that    in    great    storms    it 
iiad    been    heard   distinctly  for  the  dis- 
tance   of     seven     miles.       Tiie     sound, 
which  might  well  be  mistaken  for  thun- 
der, has  all  the  greater  resemblance  on 
account  of  a  j)e- 
culiarity      wiiich 
Mr,  Fenn  detect- 
ed while  making 
his  sk'-tc!).    Piled 
up     within      tlie 
cavc   at   the  end 
of  the  galler)'  are 
a   great    number 
of    large    stones, 
var)ing  from  one 
to  probably  three 
feet      in     length.'  ,,„  „i«Utk. 


■**»*: 


ON    THE    COAST   OF   MAINE. 


13 


ittredgc,  whost 
:cimcns  of  this  j 

of  color.     ( )n  | 
back  to  mem- 1 
ered  with  out- 
broken   \\\i\\\.  I 
colored  mosses 

of  the  fir  and 


fM 


^y 


r 


^nd  of  corresponding  thickness.  Every  time  the  waves  dash  into  the  cave,  they  dislodge 
^ome  of  these  stones,  sometimes  dragging  them  back,  sometimes  lifting  them  up  and  toss- 
ig  them  against  the  sides  of  the  cavity,  and.  as  these  bowlders  thus  roll  and  grind  to- 
rether,  they  produce  in  the  hollow  of  the  cavern  almost  the  exact  mutterings  and  rcvcr- 
[)erations  of  thunder.  The  crash  of  the  breakers  against  the  wall  is  the  clap  of  thunder; 
|he  rolling  stones  carry  off  the  sound  in  its  successive  reverberations,  making  the  resem- 
blance complete. 

Near  Thunder  Cave  we   discovered   a   natural   obelisk.     The  woodland   path   at  one 

)int  reaches  the  edge  of  a  wide,  precipitous  break  in  the  cliff.     Forcing  our  way  through 

[jgled  wood-growth    to   obtain  a  view  of  the   cliff,  we   saw,  situated    directly  under   the 

ink,  where   the   tourist   oidinarily  would   not    detect    it,  a  tall,  pointed   column,  with   an 

jparently  artificial    base   of  steps,  bearing   a   close   semblance   to   a   monumeiit  of  stone. 

lis  singular  freak  of  Nature  the  reader  will  find  illustrated  by  Mr.  Fenn's  pencil. 

Returning  to  our  point  of  deparrure,  we  proceeded  westward  in  search  of  other  :liffs, 

^here  we  made  another  discovery.     The  path  lay  along  the  top  of  the  cliff,  but,  coming 

a  dislo'Jgemcnt  of  the  perpendicular  wall,  where  some  convulsion  had  thrown  down  the 

|iff  into  a  wild   mass  of  rocks,  we  with  no  little  difficulty  clambered  down  the   broken 

id  jagged   pile,  with   the   purpose   of  getting  from  below  a  view  of  the   cliffs.      Fortu- 

itelv,   tlie   tide   was   low ;   and   this,  the  tourist  should   remember,  is  necessary,  when   he 

arranges  his  visits  to  the  shores  of   Mount    Desert.      There  is  more  animation  when   the 

Ide  is  coming,  in,  l)ut  high  water  cuts  off  access  to  many  interesting  ptjints.     Reaching 

wet,  barnacle-covered,  projecting  line  of  rocks,  a  picture  presented  itself  that  filled  l)ol!i 

tist  and  penman  with  surprise.     "  Why,  this  is  an  old  Norman  castle ! "  was  our  e.xcla- 

[lation.      The  cliff,  a   little   distant    from   our   poim    of  view,  stood    up   in    perpendicular 

les  of    rock   that    assumed   almost   exactly   the   form   of    battlements.      The   upper   line 

jsely  reseml)led  the  parapet   of  a   castle-wall;    there  were  in  the  sides  deep  embrasures; 

|ld  the  whole  front  had  the   aspect   of  a   dark,  broken,  time-stained  wall    reared    by  the 

|md  of  man.     It  stood  in  grim  and  gloomy  grandeur,  fronting  the  sea  in  stern  defiance 

the  world  beyond.      The  waves   chafed   at    its  fen;   wild    sea-birds   ho'vred   a- t)ut    its 

est  ;   there  was   an   air   of  neglect   and   desolation,  as   if  it    wimc   an   old    ruin,   and    we 

Juiid  it  impossible  to  dissociate  the  grim  and  frowning  walls  from  tiie  historic  |)iles  that 

)k  darkly  down  upon  so  many   I^uropean  landscapes.      iMuding  afterward  thi'.t  the  cliff 

known  by  no  name,  we   called   it   "Castle    Head."      The   path    followed    by   the   cus- 

|niary  visitor  extends  along  the  cliff  above  this  strange  pile,  and    hence    its   peculiarities 

Ciipe   the   notice   of  all   except    those   who    boldly  clamber   down    the   broken  wall   just 

Jie  it  is  reached,  and  survey  it  from  the  water's  edge.     Tiie  illustration  of  this  striking 

le  is  at  the  beginning  of  our  article. 

The  interest   of  Mount    Desert,  as  we   have   already  s^kI,  is  divided  between  its  sea- 
Fs  and   its   mountain-views.      It   is   customary  for  pedestrian   parties  to    form    at    East 


14 


PICTURESQUE   AMERICA. 


Eden  and  walk  to  the  mountain-top,  and  there  remain  overnifrjit,  in  order  to  view  the 
sunrise  from  this  altitude.  A  cottage,  originally  l)iiilt  by  the  United  Stutes  Coast  Survey, 
stanils  on  the  extreme  top  of  the  mountain,  arc!  affords  satisfactory  accommodation  for 
the  tourists.  A  rude  mountain-road,  constructed  by  the  Survey,  enables  vehicles  to  ascend 
to  the  cottage ;  but  |)leasure-parties  commonly  jirefer  the  ascent  on  foot.  The  distance 
from  the  village  is  four  miles.  The  height  of  the  mountain  is  seventeen  hundred  and 
sixty-two  feet. 

The  sunrise  is  a  magnificent  picture,  but  the  prevalence  of  fogs  is  a  continual  cause 
of  disappointment  to  people,  who  travel  far  and  rise  early  often  only  to  behold  a  sea 
of  impenetrable  mist.  The  prospect,  however,  whenever  the  fog  permits  it,  is  a  splendid 
one  at  all  hours,  and  possesses  a  variety  and  character  quite  distinct  from  the  views 
usually  obtained  from  mountain-heights.     Here  there   is  not  only  a  superb  panorama  of 


Kaylc    1  .akc 


hills  and  vales,  but   a   grand  stretch  of  sea,  and  intricate   net-works   of  bay  and    islands 
which  make  u|)  a  picture  marvellous'y  varied  both  in  form  and  color. 

One  of  the  most  delightful  features  of  the  scene  thus  presented  are  the  mountain- 
lakes  that  hang  like  superb  mirrors  midway  in  the  scene.  "  Eagle  Lake,"  so  named  In' 
Church  the  artist,  is  visible  at  intervals  during  the  entire  ascent  of  the  mountain,  and  at 
every  point  of  view  is  beautiful.  llalf-way  up,  a  short  dHour  from  the  road  will  briiii; 
th  tourist  to  its  pebbly  shore,  where  he  may  spend  an  hour  or  more  watching  its  clear, 
mountain-encircled  waters,  or  devote  his  entire  day  in  pursuit  of  the  trout  with  which  it 
abounds.  The  largest  lake  in  the  island  is  on  the  western  side  of  Somes's  Sound,  and  is 
about  four  miles  in  length.  There  is  a  group  of  three  lakes  on  each  side  of  this  sound, 
although  to  some  ■><"  them  the  more  prosaic  designation  of  pond  is  applied. 

Somes's  Sound,  which  divides  the  lower  portion    of  the  island  into  two  distinct  pnr-  | 
tions,  possesses  many  attractions  for  those  who  admire  bold  headlands.     It  bears  a  resein- 


ON    THE   COAST  OF  MAINE. 


15 


;r  to  view  tlu 
Coast  Surviv, 
nmodation  Im 
iclcs  to  ascend 
The  distamc 
1   hundred  and 


bhiiice  both  to  the  shores  of  the  Hudson  and  the  Delaware  Water-Gap.  It  is  usual  to 
ascend  the  sound  in  boats  from  Southwest  Harbor;  but  explorers  from  East  Eden  some- 
times drive  to  Somesville,  at  the  head  of  the  sound,  a  distance  of  nine  miles,  and  there 
take  boats  for  a  sail  down  the  stream.  The  sound  cuts  through  the  centre  of  the  moun- 
fciin-range  at  right  angles,  between  Dog  Mountain  and  an  elevation  on  the  eastern  side, 
to  which  the  appellation  of  "  Mount  Mansell "  has   been    given,   in   honor  of   Sir    Robert 


;ontinual  cause 
(  behold  a  sea 
:,  is  a  splendid 
om  the  views 
)  panorama  of 


ly  and   islands  ^ 

the  mountain 

so  named   i)V  ^j 

)untain,  and   it 

road  will  brini:  ^^  „ 

•hing  its  ckir 

with  which  it 


Sound,  and  b 
of  this  sound 
I. 

o  distinct  pur- 
bears  a  resein- 


Eagle  Clifl".    Sonies's   Soiind 

linT^ell,  after  whom  the  island  was  at  one  time  named  by  the  English.  Dog  Mountain 
pes  abruptly  from  the  water's  edge,  and  one  of  its  tliflfs,  which  is  some  eight  hundred  or 
jthousaiul  feet  in  height,  is  called  "  Eagle  Cliff."  At  the  moment  Mr.  Fenn  was  sketch- 
A  sj)lendid  balu-headed  eagle  was  sailing  in  wide  circles  around  the  head  of  the  cliff 
^ii-  giving,  to  the  imagination  of  tiie  artist,  ample  justification  i"or  the  title. 

\N'e  have  now  enumerated  the  principal  features  of  this  beautiful  island.      But    there 
hundreds  ol   places  that  almost  equally  as  well  deserve  the  attention  of  pen  and  pen- 


PT" 


4 


i6 


PICTURESQUE    AMERICA. 


cil.  The  shore  varies  in  cliaracter  and  form  at  nearly  every  step,  affording  almost 
innumerable  delifrhtful  pictures;  while  the  lakes,  the  mountains,  the  forests,  are  endless  in 
their  long  catalogue  of  rare  and  beautiful  scenes.  And  in  addition  to  scenes  upon  the 
island  itself  are  the  picturesque  and  rocky  Porcupine  Islands,  the  rugged  shores  of  Iron- 
bound  Island,  on  the  Eastern  side  of  Frenchman's  Bay,  and  Mount-Desert  Rock,  fifteen 
miles  down  at  sea,  upon  whose  narrow  base  stands  a  light-house.  Artist  and  writer  have 
been  limited  to  giving  mere  indications  of  a  locality  that  is  almost  exhaustless  in  its  va- 
riety of  scenery. 

Mount  Desert  was  discovered  by  the  French,  under  Champlain,  in  the  early  part  of 
the  seventeenth  century,  who  gave  it  the  name  by  which  it  is  now  known.  In  1619, 
the  French  formed  a  settlement,  which  was  named  "  Saint-Sauveur,"  but  in  a  few  years  it 
came  to  a  cruel  end.  The  Virginian  settlers  were  accustomed  to  fish  upon  the  Nevv- 
lingland  coast,  and  the  captain  of  an  armed  vessel,  hearing  from  the  Indians  of  the  j 
settlement,  sailed  down  upon  it,  and  wiih  a  single  broadside  made  himself  its  master. 
Some  of  the  settlers  were  killed,  and  others  carried  away  into  captivity.  The  first  per- 
manent settlement  was  made  by  Abraham  Somes,  who  in  1761  built  a  house  at  the  head 
of  the  sound  which  now  bears  his  name. 


View  from  Via  Mala,  at    ITic  Ovenn 


■'f«V 


Hording  almost 
,  are  endless  in 
cenes  upon  the 
shores  of  Iron- 
t  Rock,  fifteen 
ind  writer  have 
istless  in  its  va- 


le  early  part  of 
iwn.  In  1619, 
1  a  few  years  it 
ipon  the  New- 
Indians  of  the 
iself  its  master,  i 
The  first  per- 
use at  the  head  I 


^ 


Mouth   of  thu    bt.   John'ii    Kiver — Looking  in. 


ST.  JOHN'S  AND   OCKLAWAHA   RIVERS,   FLORIDA. 


'i 

\^ 

1 

•J 

-J 

-\ 

,3 

V 

K 

g 

V 

1 

■\ 


^ 


Vn> 


WITH    ILLUSTRATIONS   BY    HARRY    FENN. 

FLORIDA  is  a  strange  land,  both  in  its  traditions  and  its  natural  features.  It  was 
tiie  first  settled  of  the  States,  and  has  the  most  genial  climate  of  all  of  them  ;  and 
yet  tlic  greater  part  of  it  is  still  a  wilderness.  Its  early  history  was  one  long  romance 
w  battle  and  massacre,  and  its  later  annals  arc  almost  equally  interesting.  The  Span- 
ftfds,  who  were  the  first  Christian  people  to  visit  it,  were  much  impressed  with  its  mys- 
twy  and  its  scenery,  and,  as  they  discovered  it  on  Easter  Sunday,  which  in  their  language 
is  called  "  Pascua  Florida,"  they  commemorated  the  event  by  giving  the  new  territory  its 
fscnt    ap[)ellation. 

The  time  was  when    Florida  was  an  immense  sand-bar,  stretching    into   the    Gulf  of 

^xico,  and  probably  as  barren  as  can  be  conceived.      But   in    the   semi-tropical    climate 

|er  which  it  exists,  in  the  course  of  ages  the  seeds  carried  to  its  shores  by  the  sea  and 

winds  and  the   myriads   of  birds  which    find   it   a   resting-place,  have    clothed  it  with 

jriant  vegetation,  interspersed  with  tracts  of  apparently  barren  sands.     It  is  a  land  of 

iliar  scener}',  which  the  pencil  of  the  artist  has  heretofore  scarcely  touched.      Its  main 

ires  illustrate  the  absurdity  of  the  common  notion  that  the  landscapes  of  tropical  and 

i-tropical  latitudes  are  superior  in  lu.xuriance   of  vegetable   production  to  those  of  the 

)iMate  zones.    The  truth  is,  that  in  the  hot  regions  it  is  only  where  there  is  constant 

ture  that  there  is  a  strong  and  rank  growth  of  plants.     Generally,  aridity  prevails,  the 

sides  are  bereft  of  vegetation,  and  an  air  of  parched-up   and   suffering   Nature  charac- 

;s  all  that  is  seen.      It  is  only  when  we  come  North  that  our  landscapes  glow  with 

[ersal  vegetable  profusion  ;   that  the  forests  stand  out  in  bold   relief  on   the   hill-sides ; 

tlie  earth  is  carpeted  with  vernal  green,  and  prodigality  of  vegetation  reigns  supreme. 

ihi'  tropical  landscape,  the  abundance  of  flowers,  which  are  supposed  to  be  peculiar  to 


i8 


PIC  TURESQ  UE    AMERICA . 


.1 


warm  climates,  are  exceptional 
phases.  They  exist,  but  it  is  ir 
the  recesses  of  the  swamp,  whtr 
the  burning  sun  is  checked  in  it 
effulgency.  In  these  recesses,  an 
favored  by  springs  of  water,  w 
have  in  Florida  the  wildest  t: 
fects.  We  have  flowers,  an 
vines,  and  strange  leafings,  an 
gigantic  trees,  as  nowhere  else  i 
be  seen  ;  but  they  are  always  i 
hidden  f)laces;  the  open  tropic 
landscape,  we  repeat,  is  arid  ar 
desolate. 

Originally    starting    out   f 
the   avowed   purpose   of  huntin, 
the  picturesque,  we  sailed  for  tl 
mouth  of  the  St.  John's — a  rivt 
that  reaches   into   the  very  iica 
of  the    peninsula,   and    from  ti 
ill-defined    shores    of    which   yi 
can    branch    off    into    the    ver 
wildest  of  this,  in  one  sense,  dd 
olate   region.      The   approach  i 
the   mouth   of  the    harbor,  as 
the   case   with   all   our   Southr 
rivers,    is    interrupted    by    :i   Ih 
over  which  the  surf  beats  alwa' 
more  or  less  wildly.     Extra  fac 
ities  being  afforded  us,  we   safi 
passed    the   "  rough    places,"  ar 
with   impatience    sought   a   loui 
out   from    Pelican  Bank,  situatt| 
at  the  mouth  of  the  harbor.    0  '| 
sudden  intrusion  startled  myriai. 
of  sea-fowl,  which  went  screamir.- 
away,  yet  in   such   close   contif 
to    our    persons    that   we    cou. 
have    caught   many    of  thcni 


lie, 
II 

riii 

few; 
lA 


ST.   JOHN'S  AND   OCKLAWAHA    RIVERS,   FLORIDA. 


19 


arc  except i'Mi 
xist,  but  it  is  i 
he  swamp,  wlur 

is  checked  in  ii 
hcse  recesses,  an 
igs  of  water,  w 
I  t!-e  wildest  i 
vc  flowers,  an 
ige  Icafings,  an 
5  nowhere  else  1 
hey  are  always  i 

the  open  tro|)it 
epeat,  is  arid  an 

starting    out    I 
irpose   of  huiitii, 
,  we  sailed  for  tl 
St.  John's — a  riv 
ito    the  very  Ir;! 
da,   and   from  ti 
es    of   which    m 
into    the    vi 
in  one  sense,  d 
he   approacli  > 
the    harbor,  as 
all   our   Southc 
rupted    by    ;i  1 
surf  beats  alwa 
dly.     Extra  fa^ 
dcd  us,  we   saK 
nigh    places,"  ai 
sought   a   loc 
an   Bank,  situai 
f  the  harbor,    d 
n  startled  myria 
ch  went  screann 
uch   close   conta 
s    that   we    con 
nany    of  them 


our  hands.  The  scene  had  a  strange  look,  for,  as  far  as  the  eye  could  reach,  a  long,  low 
iaef  of  burning  sand  presented  itself;  the  only  vegetation  visible  was  a  jungle  of  sun- 
Stirnt,  wind-blasted  palmettos.  A  little  north  was  Tort  St.  George  Island,  the  most 
soutiiern  of  the  cultivated  sea-islands.  Once  fairly  launched  on  the  waters  of  the  St. 
John's,  after  makimr  a  sketch  of  the  harbor  looking  toward  the  sea,  we  impatiently  passed 
ail  intervening  places  until  we  arrived  at  Pilatka,  a  central  point,  from  which  we  could 
easily  reach  the  Black  River,  and  the  more  famous  Ocklawaha,  and  other  small  streams, 
only  navigable  for  boats  of  miniature  size. 

^'  But,  before  we  enter  upon  the  business  of  our  journey,  let  us,  by  way  of  parenthesis, 
say  tiiat  this  section  of  country  has  always  been  remarkable  for  its  recuperative  effects 
upon  invalids,  who,  living  farther  north,  suffer  from  the  borean  blasts  of  our  long  and 
dwary  winters.  Jacksonville,  a  popular  winter  resort,  is  the  most  important  of  these 
hygienic  towns,  and  boasts  a  population  of  over  five  thousand  jjcrsons.  There  are  also 
Hibernia,  at  the  mouth  of  Black  (^leek  ;  Magnolia,  something  over  fifty  miles  from  the 
mouth  of  the  river;  and  Picolata,  ten  miles  still  farther  u]).  If  tiic  time  comes  when 
these  famous  places  for  a  winter  residence  for  invalids  can  furnish  abundantly  the  neces- 
saries and  comforts  of  life,  there  is  no  reason  why  they  should  not  be  annually  crowded, 
for  nothing  can  be  better  than  their  balmy  air  for  those  upon  whom  the  Northern  in- 
ters bear  too  iieavily.  But  it  is  inconsiderate  for  those  who  are  past  recovery  with  pul- 
monary complaints  to  wander  to  the  wilds  of  I^'lorida  in  pursuit  of  health,  for,  whatever 
may  be  the  advantages  of  climate,  the  lack  of  the  comforts  the  sick  require  more 
tlMin  counterbalances  the  effect  of  the  balmy  air.  Among  the  especial  resorts  for  invalids 
is  Green  Cove  Springs,  near  Magnolia,  famous  for  curing  rheuinatism  and  a  hundred 
CQpiplaints,  and  composed  of  a  series  of  warm  sulphurous  pools,  in  some  places  twenty- 
fil^  feet  deep.  The  water  is  very  transparent,  and  of  a  pale-bluish  tint.  It  was  pcrhajis 
so^c  rumor  of  the  virtues  of  these  springs  that  gave  origin  to  the  notion,  current  among 
th«i  early  Spanish  explorers,  that  there  was  in  Florida  a  fountain  to  bathe  in  which  would 
inSilirc  perpetual  youth  and  health. 

4;  ^\t    Filatka,  by  the   aid  of   influential    letters   and    previously-made  arrangements,  we 
^red  the  good-will  of  the  captain  of  the  steamer  we  named  the   buying  Swan,  a  craft 
bh,  from  its  simplicity  of  construction  and  rude  machinery,  might  have  been  the  first 
lei  constructed  by  Fulton  when  he  was  putting  into  practical  shape  the  use  of  steam 
propelling  boats.     Its  general  outline  was  that  of  an  ill-shaped  onmibus,  with  the  pro- 
[i,<r-wheel  let  into  its  rear,  and,  on  further  examination,  we  found  the  smoke-jjipe,  the 
le,  pilot-house,  and  all  other  of  the  usual  gear  of  steamers,  were  housed,  for  the  ex- 
it   reason  of   protecting    them  from    being   torn    away  by  the  overhanging   limbs  or 
hiding  stumps  everywhere  to  be  met  with  in  the  narrow  and  difficult  navigation  of 
fewamps. 
lA  sail  of  twenty  miles  along  the  St.  John's  brought  us,  a  little  before  sunrise,  to  the 


9E 


* 


BAH     LIOHT-HOUai:,     MOUTH    OF    ST     JOHN'S    RIVRR. 


Sr.   JOHN'S  AND   OCKLAWAHA    RIVERS,   FLORIDA. 


21 


louth  of  the  Ocklawaha  River,  looking  scarcely  wide  enough  to  admit  a  skiff,  much  less 
steamboat.  As  daylight  increased,  we  found  that  we  were  passing  through  a  dense 
aress-swamp,  and  that  the  channel  selected  had  no  banks,  but  was  indicated  by 
blazed"  marks  on  the  trunks  of  the  towding  trees.  There  was  plenty  of  water,  how- 
ler, to  float  our  craft,  but  it  was  a  queer  kind  of  navigation,  for  the  hull  of  the  steamer 
fent  bumping  against  one  cypress-butt,  then  another,  suggesting  to  the  tyro  in  this  kind 
[aquatic  adventure  that  possibly  he  might  be  wrecked,  and  subjected,  even  if  he  escaped 


y.jif'y^-:^ 


lireeii  tov«  Sprir.gi. 


itery  grave,  to  w  miserable  death,  through  the  agency  of  mosquitoes,  buzzards,  and 
.illigators. 

^As  we  wound   along   through    I  he   dense  vegetation,  a    picture  of  novel  interest  pre- 

M  itself  at   every  turn.    We   came   occasionally  to   a   snot  a  little  elevated  above  the 

Iw.iier  level,  covered  with  a  rank  growth  of  lofty  palmetto,  the  very  opposite,  in  every 

CI,  lo  those    .lUnted,  storm-blown  specimens  which   greeted   us  at    the   mouth  v)f  the 

plin's  River,     ilere  they  shot  up  tall  and  slender,  l»earing  aloft  innumerable  parasites, 


1 

1 

wm 


22 


PICTURESQUE  AMERICA. 


A   I  loriila  Swamp, 


often  surprisinj;  the  eye  with  patches,  of  a   half-mile   in  length,  of  the  convo'vulus,  lit 
solid  mass  of  luautiful  blossoms. 

Another    sharp    turn,    and    the    wreck    of   nn    old  dead    cypress    is    discovered,  it<l 

hnjrc    limits   covered    with    ininnncrahic   turkev-huzzards.  which  arc   waiting    patiently   fff| 


ST.    JOHN'S   AND    OCKLAWAHA    RIVERS,    FLORIDA. 


23 


onvo'vulus,  in 

tliscovercd,   it!  I 
liy    piUicntly   fi''J 


WaitinK  ^■'    I>ccninpo!titi(in. 

ilfiDinposiiitMi   of  an    allijj.itor   that    some   successful    sporisman    has    slu)t,   ami    left 

^Ihc  pivy  of  these    iimIuI  ltii(    ilisjrustiii);  hinls.      T'u-   sunshine    S|)arkles    in  the  spray 

pli   our   awkward    vet    ellicient    craft    drives    fnun   its    prow,  and    then  we    enter  what 

rts    to    W    A    cavern,  where     Ihe     sun    never     penetrates.        The    tree-tops     interlace 


^m 


»4 


PIC  TUR ESQ UH    A  MHRICA. 


and  the  tangled  vines  and    innumerable  parasites   iiave   made  an   impenetrable  mass  ow 
head. 


of 
are 


The  swamps  of   Florida  are  as  rich  in  birds   as  in  vegetation.     It  is  no  wonder  thai, 
Audubon  here  found  one    of   the  finest   fields   from  which   to   enrich  his   great  works  "l-^K'»i,g 
natural  history.     A  minute  list  of  the  varieties  we  sometimes  saw  in  a  single  day  ^^'""'"i^Pfinn 
fill  a  page.     One  of  the    most   attractive  was   the  water-turkey,  or   snake-bird,  which  w   mt|,g 


seei 
taste 

liOlig 

llmi 

sian^ 

Flor 

roifti 

to  g 

inter 

scion 

posse 

upon 

succc 

phUai 

the  s 

gator^ 

son)( 

its  It 

somi  \ 
unlike 
wa9  I 


AsccnilitiK    llic   Ocklawaha    Kivcr   at    iNight. 


everywhere  to  be  met  with,  sitting  upon  some  i)rojecting  limb  overlooking  the  water,  lii 
body  as  carefully  as  possible  concealed  from  view,  its  head  and  long  neck   projecting  i>i. 
and   moving  constantly  like  a  black    snake  in  search  of  its  prey.     Your   curiosity  is  csj 
cited;    you  would   examine    the   creature    more    critically,  and    you    fire,  at  what    seems  i 
short,  point-blank  shut.       The    bird  falls,  ap|)arentiy  helpless,  in  the  water;    you    row  rapl 
idly  to  secure  your  prize,  when,  a  hundred  yards  ahead,  v>iu  suddenly  see  the  snaky  lii'i  3 


S7:    JOHN'S   AND    OCKLAWAHA    RIVERS,    FLORIDA. 


25 


valilc  mass  ovn- 

no  wonder  tli:: 

frrcat  works  u\ 

iinjilc  day  wmili 

j-bird,  which  wi 


Inti  the  water  n 
Ik  projcctinjj  '■^^ 

|r    curiosity  '^  "I 
K  wliat    sccMiisip 
\\  ;    vou    row  rap 
the  snaky  lie* 


of  the  "darter"  just  protruding  above  the  surface  of  tiie  water.      In  an  instant  its  lungs 
are  filled  with  air,  and,  disappearing  again,  it  reaches  a  place  of  safety. 

Another  conspicuous  bird  is  the  large  white  crane.  It  is  a  very  effective  object  in 
the  deep  shadows  of  the  cypress,  as  it  proudly  stalks  about,  eying  with  fantastic  look  the 
jBany  tribes  it  hunts  for  prey.  Especially  is  it  of  service  in  seizing  upon  the  young  of 
the  innumerable  water-snakes  which  everywhere  abound.  With  commendable  taste,  it 
seems  to  pay  especial  attention  to  the  disgusting,  slimy,  juvenile  moccasins,  which  have  a 
taste  for  sunning  tliemselves  on  harsh  dried  leaves  of  the  stunted  palmetto. 

Hut  the  prominent  living  object  to  the  stranger  in  these  out-of-the-wr.y  places  is  the 
alUgator,  whose  paradise  is  in  the  swami)s  of  Florida.  Mere  he  nuls  a  climate  that 
almost  the  year  round  suits  his  delicate  constitution  ;  and,  while  his  kindred  in  the  Loui- 
shma  swamps  tind  it  necessary  to  retire  into  the  mud  to  escape  the  cold  of  winter,  the 
Florida  representaiive  of  the  tribe  is  hapjjy  in  the  enjoyment  of  the  upper  world  the  year 
roiihd.  It  was  a  comical  and  a  jMovoking  sight  to  see  these  creatures,  when  indisposed 
to  get  out  of  our  wav,  turn  up  their  piggish  eyes  in  "speculative  mood  at  the  sudden 
interru|)tion  of  a  ritle-ball  against  their  mailed  sides,  but  all  the  while  seemingly  uncon- 
scious that  anv  harm  against  their  jjcrsons  was  intended.  Like  Achilles,  howe\er,  they 
possess  a  vulnerable  point,  which  is  just  in  front  of  the  spot  where  the  huge  head  works 
upon  the  spinal  column,  'riiere  is  of  necessity  at  this  place  a  joint  in  the  armor,  and  a 
SUCces'^fid  hunter,  after  much  experience,  seldom  lets  one  of  the  rcjjtiles  escipe.  If  any 
phllantli.opist  has  ever  objected  to  the  slaughter,  the  circumstance  is  not  remembered  in 
thdi  swamps  and  everglades  of  bMorida.  On  one  occasion  we  fired  into  a  herd  of  alli- 
gators, and  the  noise  of  two  or  three  shots  caused  all  but  one  to  finally  disai)|)ear.  For 
scHDe  r.-ason  it  seemed  difficult  to  get  the  remaining  one  to  move,  the  creature  lying  with 
its  I'ca.l  exposed  to  our  gaze,  looking  as  demoniac  as  possible.  .\  bullet,  which  struck 
swfBewhere  in  tlic  vicinity  of  its  jaws,  touched  i'.s  feelings,  and  then,  with  a  g.  *:  not 
uidSke  that  of  a  hog,  it  buried  itself  in  the  muddy  water.  This  unwillingness  to  move 
W«|  then  explained  by  thu  apjiearance  of  a  large  number  of  young  alligators,  which,  in 
pconhision,  came  to  the  surHiee  like  so  mam  chips.  We  had,  without  being  aware  of 
tacked  the  inolher  while  she  was  |)rotecting  her  iK  ^t. 

In  the  vieiiiilv  of  the    alligator's    nest  we   came  u|ion  a  primitive  post-office,  consist- 

1  cigar-box,  bearing  tiie  magic  letters  "l'.  .S.  M.,"  nailed  upon  the  Lm:^    of  an  old 

ss-tiee.      It    was   a   sort   of  central    point    for   the    swamp-ers,  where   they    left    their 

miles  and  croctked  writing  to  be  conveyed  to  ihe  jilaees  of  destination  by  "  whom- 

inie  along."     We,  desiring  to  act  the  part  of  a  volunteer  mail-carrier  for  Ihe  neigh- 

I    iieepc'l    into    the    |)ost-offiee,  but    there  were    no    signs    of   letters;    so  our  good 

ti'  11^  were  of  no  |)iactical  effect. 

ur   little   craft    bumps   along   from    one   cypress-stump    to    another,  and   fetches   up 

It  ,1  cypress-knee,  as  it  is  termed— sharp-pointed  lances  which  grow  up  from  the  n;ots 


It, 


'A 


26 


PIC  rURESQ UE    AMERICA. 


1  hu  Lcukuut. 


of  the    trees,   seemingly   to    protect   thtj 
trunk    from    too    much    outside    concus-j 
sion  ;   glancing  olT,  it  runs  into  a   roor..| 
injr-place  of  innumerable  cranes,  or  scati 
tcrs  the  wild-ducks  and  huge  snakes  ovtJ 
the  surface  of -the  water.     ^V  clear  ])atdi 
of  the   sky  is  seen,  and  the  bright  lighij 
of    a    summer    evening    is    tossing   tlit 
feathery  crowns    of  the  old  cyi)ress-tra< 
into  a  nimbus   of  glory,  while'  innunwl 
able  paroquets,  alarm.ed  at  our  intrusion! 
scream   out   their  fierce  indignation,  ani 
then,  flying  away,  flasl>  upon  our  adniiJ 
ing    eyes    their    green    and    golden    ])kl 
mage.     It  now  begins  to  grow  dark  in  earnest,  and  wc  become  curious  to  know  how  otS 
attentive  pilot  will  safely  navigate   this   mysterious  channel   in  what    is   literally  Egyptiai 
darkness.      While  thus  speculating,  there  llasiies  across  the  landscape  a  bright,  clear  lighJ 
From  the  most  intense    blackness  we  have  a  liercc,  lurid  glare,  presenting   the    most  ci 
travagantly-pietures<jue  groups  of  overhanging  palmettos,  draped  with   parasites  and  vi 
of  all   descriptions ;    i)rominent    among 
the  latter  is  the  scarlet  trumpet-creeper, 
overburdened  wilii  wreaths  of  blossoms, 
and  intertwined  again  with   chaplets  of 
purple  and  white  convolvulus,  the  most 
minute   details   of  the    objects  near  be- 
ing   brought    out    in    a    shar|i  red  light 
against    tiie    deep    tone    of    tiie    forest's 
depths.      Hut    no    imagination  can  con- 
ceive   the    gr(Jtes(|ue    and    weird    forms 
which    constantly    force    tiiemselves    on 
your   notice   as  the  light   partially  illu- 
minates  the    limbs  of  wrecked  or  half- 
destroyed     trees,    which,    covered    with 
moss,  or    wrapped    in    decayed    vegeta- 
tion   as    a    winding-sheef,    seem     huge 
unhuried  monsters,  which,  though  dead, 
still   thro\>   aJKiut   iheir  arms   in  agonv, 
and  ga/e  through  unmeaning  eyes  upon  l*?^' 

the  intrusions  of  active,  living  men.  a  iv.si.oificc  on  ihc  ockiauahu. 


S7\    JOHN'S   AND    OCKLAWAHA    RIVERS,    FLORIDA. 


27 


to    protect    the 

outside    coiicus- 

ins  into  a   lous:. 

,e  cranes,  or  scat- 

hu<je  snakes  ovcij 

r.     A  clear  patd: 

1  the  briglit  ligl'.: 

r    is    tossinit   tin 

■  old  cyi)ress-tm 

y,  while'  inniiiiia 

.   at  our  intrii'^idi 

,•  indignation,  ;!i, 

1  upon  our  adi.ii: 

and    golden    \l 

to  know  how  oti 

literally  Egyptiai 

bright,  clear  ligli; 

ing    the    most  cj 

)arasitcs  and  vim 


tf 


Another  run  of  a  half-mile  brings   us   into  the  cypress   again,  the    firelight   giving 

w  ideas  of  the  picturesque.     The  tall  shafts,  more  than  ever  shrouded   in  the  hanging 

moss,   looked   as    if    they  had    been   draped    in   sad  habiliments,  while    the   wind   sighed 

rough  the  limbs ;  and  when  the  sonorous  sounds  of  the  alligators  were    heard,  groaning 

complaining,  the  sad,  dismal  picture  of  desolation  was  complete. 

A    sharp   contact  with   a  palmetto  -  knee  ...  ovvs   around  the  head  of  our  nondescript 
steamer,  and  we  enter  what   appears  to   be   an   endless    colonnade    of   beautifully -propor- 
ed  shafts,  running   upward  a  hundred   feet,  roofed    by  pendent   ornaments,  suggesting 
highest    possible   effect    of  Gothic   architecture.     The  delusion  was  increased   by  the 


r 


■S\ 


^:<\ 


■M 


m-^\! 


'Si^ 


^^m^ 


%  -^  i  "71 


klauuhti. 


A  Slight  Obstruction  in  the  Ocklawaha. 

fhyr  Streamers  of  the  Spanish  moss,  which  here   and  there,  in  great  festoons  of  fifty 

in  length,   liung   down  like  tattere."   hut  gigantic  banners,  worm-eaten    and    mouldy. 

1  vidences  of  ihc  iio])es  and   passions  of  the  distant  past.      So   absorbing  were   these 

dcrful   cfiects   of  a    brilliant   light   upon    the    vegetable    productions  of  these    Florida 

Imps,  that  we  had  forgotten   to  look   for    the    cause  of  this  artificial   glare,  but,  when 

liul,  wc  found   a    faithful   negro    had   suspended    from    cranes   two  iron  cages,  one   on 

side  of  the  boat,  into  which  he   constantly  placed  unctuous   pine-knots,  that    blazed 

1  niukled,  and  turned  what   .vould  otherwise  have   been   unmeaning  darkness  into  thp 

?!  novel  and  exciting  views  of  Nature  that  ever  met  our  experienced  eyes. 


rT'~ 


28 


Pit '  TURESQ  UJi    A  ME  RICA. 


ida 

saiv, 

full 

siirvi 


The  morning  came,  and  the  theatrical  display  of  the  swamp  by  torchlight  ended 
when  we  were  destined  to  be  introduced  to  a  new  feature  of  this  singular  navigation 
A  huge  water-oak,  seemingly  in  the  very  pride  of  its  matured  existence,  had  fallen  di- 
rectly across  the  channel.  Its  wood  was  only  a  little  less  hard  than  iron,  and  the  labor  tc 
be  performed  to  get  this  obstruction  out  of  the  way  was  contemplated  with  anger  by  the 
captain  of  our  craft,  and  in  sadness  by  the  "  hands,"  to  whose  lot  fell  the  labor  of  clear, 
ing  the  obstruction  away.  However,  the  order  was  given,  and  no  inhabitant  of  the  laua 
s\.»'amp   is  inexperienced  in  the  use  of  the  axe.     The  sturdy  blows  fell    thick  and  fast,  a>       thfii 

turn 
tite, 
}    op  d 


c        H&ia 


Cypress-shingle  Yard. 

one  limb  after  another  broke  loose  from  the  parent  trunk  and  floated  slowly  away.  TIJ 
great  i)utt  was  then  assailed,  and,  by  a  judicious  choice  in  the  assault,  the  weight  of  tliii 
huge  structure  was  made  to  assist  in  breaking  it  in  twain.  While  this  work  was  goinfj 
on,  which  consumed  some  hours,  we  waded — we  won't  say  ashore — but  from  one  picu 
rious  foothold  to  another,  until,  after  various  unpleasant  experiences — the  least  of  whicli| 
was  getting  wet  to  our  waist  in  the  black  water  of  the  swamp — we  reached  land,  wiml 
was  a  few  inches  above  the  surface  of  the  prevailing  flood. 

We  were,  however,  rewarded  for  our  enterprise  by  suddenly  coming  upon  two  "  lloil 


EDI 
() 


ST.    JOHN'S   AND    OCKLAWAHA    RIVERS,    FLORIDA. 


29 


rchiight  ended, 
ular  navigatioa 
,  had  fallen  di 
nd  the  labor  to 
th  anger  by  the 
labor  of  clear- 
habitant  of  lilt  I 
lick  and  fast,  as 


\ 


i^  crackers,"  who  had  established  a  camp  in  a  grove  of  the  finest  cypress-trees  \vc  ever* 
Sinv',  and  w're  appropriating  the  valuable    timber   to    the    manufacture    of  shingles,  which 

nulcs,  we  were  informed,  arc  almost  as  indestructible  as  slate.  These  men  were  civil, 
of  character,  and  in  their  way  not  wanting  in  intelligence.  How  they  manage  to 
ive  the  discomforts  of  their   situation    is   difficult    to   imagine,  but  they  do  exist,  the 

isquitoes  drawing  from  their  bodies  every  useless  dro])  of  blood,  the  low  swamp  ma- 
laria making  tiie  accumulation  of  fat  an  impossii)ility,  while  tiie  dull  surroundings  of 
tBipir  life,  to  them  most  monotonous,  cramp  the  intellect  until  they  arc  almost  as  taci- 
t|j|n  as  the  trees  with  which  they  are  associated.  But  their  hut  was  a  very  model  of 
tti0  picturesque,  and  the  smouldering  fire,  over  which  their  dinner-pot  was  cooking,  sent 
Hpfe  a  wreath  of  blue  smoke  against   the   dark   openings  of  the   deep   forest  that  gave  a 


■"'^il^' 


A  Sudden  Turn  in  the  Ocklawalia. 


^»Ai 


l)wly  away.  Tt- 
lie  weight  of  tb 
Iwork  was  goini 

from  one  picu 
least    of  wliici": 

thed  land,  wlii^i 

ipon  two  "  11": 


charm,  and   a  contrast   of   colors,  diflicult  to  sufficiently  admire,   and   impossible   to 
bnceivcd  of  in  the  mere  speculations  of  studio-life. 

lOne  of  our  strangest  experiences  in  these  mysterious  regions  was  forced  upon  us 
I  morning,  when,  thrusting  our  head  through  tiic  hole  that  gave  air  to  our  "slecping- 
f,"  we  saw  a  sight  which  caused  us  to  rub  our  eyes,  and  gatiicr  u|)  our  senses,  to  be 
\\\\  we  were  positively  awake.     Our  rude  craft  was  in  a  basin,  possibly  a  quarter  of  a 

m   diameter,  entirely  surrounded    by  gigantic  forest-trees,  which   re])catcd   themselves 
,llic   most   minute   fidelity  in   the  perfectly  translucent  water.      For  si.vty  feet  dovvn- 

we   could    look,  and    at   this   great    depth    see    du|)licated  the   scene   of  the   upper 
1,  the  clearness  of  the  water  assisting  rather  than    interfering  with  the  vision.      The 

til  oi  this  basin  was  silver  sand,  studded  with    eccentric   formations   of   lime-crystals 


30 


PI  C  TURESQ  UE   A  ME  RICA. 


of  a  pale  emerald  tint.      This  we  soon  learned  was  the  wonderful  silver  spring  of  'vhicj 
we  had  heard  so  much,  which  every  moment  throws  out  its  thousands  of  gallons  ot  wattj 
without  making  a  bubble  on  the  surface.     The  transparency  of  the  water  was  marvelloii| 
A   little   pearly-white   shell,  dropped   from    our   hand,  worked    its   zigzag   way   downwa 
deepening  in  its  descent   from  a  pale  green  to  a  rich  emerald,  until,  finding   the   bottotl 
it  seeiii^d  a  gem  destined  forever  to  glisten  in  its  silver  setting.      Procuring  a  "  dus-oul 
we  proceeded  to  inform  ourself  of  the  mysteries  of  the  spot.      Noticing  the  fointest 
siblc  movement  on   the    surface   of  the    basin   at   a   certain    point,   we   concluded   that 
inu^t   be   over   the   place   where   the   great    body  of  the  water  entered   the   spring.     s| 
paddling   to   the    spot,  we  dropped  a  stone,  wrapped  in  a  piece  of  white  paper,  into  A 
water  at  the  place  where   the   moveinent  was  visible.      The   stone   went    down   for  s 
twenty-five  feet,  until  it  reached  a  slight  projection    of  limestone   rock,  when    it  was 
dcnlv,  as  if  a  feather  in  weight,  forced  upward  in  a  curving  line  some  fifteen  feet,  sk 
ing  the  tremendous  power  of  the  water  that  rushes  out  from  the  rock.     The  most  noij 
and  startling  feature  was  when  our  craft  came  from  the  shade  into  the  sunshine,  for  tin 
it  seemed   as  if  we  were,  by  some   miraculous   power,  suspended  seventy  feet  or  morej 
the  mid  air,  while  down  on  the  sanded  bottom  was  a  sharp,  clear  silhouette  of  man, 
and   paddle.      A  deep  river  a  hundred   feet  wide  is  created    by  the  water   of  this  sprii^ 
which  in  the  (-oursc  of  seven  iniles  forms  a  junction  with  the  Ocklawaha. 


:i:'  i 


Silver  bpring. 


Mount  Ranier,  from  the  Columbia  River. 


UP    AND    DOWN    THE    COLUMBIA. 


WITH     ILLUSTRATIONS     BY    R.     SWAIN    GIFFORD. 


APS  arc  so  unexpectedly  made  over  nowadays,  what  with  the  Old  World  pas- 
sion of  conquest,  and  the  New  World  instinct  of  truck  and  dicker,  that  even  we 
)roun<i  people,  who  are  rather  proud  of  not  yet  having  forgotten  our  multiplication- 
table  and  syntax,  are  not  a  little  put  to  it  to  bound  American  America,  or  United  Ger- 
many, or  dismembered  France.  There  was  a  happy  time  when  a  "pent-up  Utica"  judi- 
ciousl)  contracted  our  powers,  and  when  we  were  limited  toward  the  pole  by  undiscov- 
countries  which  we  were  taught  to  call  respectively  Russian  Possessions  and  Upper 
[Lower  Canada — which  was  which  of  the  twins  last  mentioned  the  infant  mind  never 
fly  apprehending.  In  those  days  our  national  Northwestern  estate  was  represented  on 
atlas  by  a  green  and  a  brown  patch  of  uncertain  outlines,  severally  labelled  "  Indian 
[itory  "  and  "Oregon."  Lewis  and  Clark  were  popularly  believed  to  be  the  only  civ- 
men  who  had  ocular  proof  of  their  existence.  In  the  common  mind  they  stood 
as  irregular  polygons  on  the  map,  and  not  as  so  many  acres  of  soil,  stones,  forests. 
fe,  rivers,  hai)itable  places,  over  which  familiar  heavens  arched,  and  wherv-  rains  fell  on 
|and  unjust,  the  former  class  being  represented  by  wild  animals  and  the  latter  by 
nun.  Even  the  wise  geographers  skated  nimbly  over  the  thin  ice  of  their  igno- 
t  lingering  only  long  enough  for  a  single  observation,  to  the  effect  that  this  vast, 
Iplored  count.y  was  chiefly  trackless  descit    and    unexplored  forest.     And    even    Con- 


,j 


off! 
Sta 
clat 
chil 
d(» 
sho 
ool; 
teiK 
the 
win 


UP  AND   DOWN    THE    COLUMBIA. 


33 


gressional   orators,  who  spoke   for  "  Bunconil)c,"  and  went   in,  on   all   occasions,  for  river 
and  harbor  improvements,  never  could  get  beyond  the  third  line  of  the  sonorous — 

".  .  .  .  the  continuous  woods 
Where  rolls  the  Oregon,  and  hears  no  sound 
Save  its  own  dashings." 


'<■:•     , 


U'l^ 


I 


Alas  for  the  infant-schools !  Out  of  that  dull,  green  patch  has  broken  a  wealth  of 
offshoots,  as  out  of  the  scrimp  and  ugly  cactus  burst  its  superb  blossoms.  A  list  of 
States  and  Territories  that  dizzies  the  arithmetic  of  memory  insists  on  place  and  nomcn- 
dature,  and  blessed  be  Providence  which  ordained  that  we  should  not  be  our  own  grand- 
chlidren,  to  encounter  a  tale  of  three  hundred  and  sixty-five  political  divisions  by  them 
(^btlcss  to  be  comprehended  in  the  description  of  their  dear,  their  native  land !  As  the 
slU^ts  increased  the  parent -stem  dwindled,  and  now  Oregon,  pinched  and  shrivelled,  is 
OflKf  a  fourth  larger  than  all  New  England,  or  rather  less  than  twice  New  York  in  ex- 
tei^  And  as  for  the  vast  Indian  Territory,  that  would  seem  to  exist  variably  wherever 
thf!  Noble  Savage  is  upon  the  war-path,  and  to  comprise  so  much  land  as  his  blanket 
cover. 

In  those  better  days  we  children  used  to  have  delightful  thrills  of  horror  at  tnought 
le  Great  American  Desert  and  far  Pacific  coast,  peopled,  as  we   believed,  \yith    lions, 
ifators,  dragons,  polar  bears,  anacondas,  the  "  anthropophagi,  and  men  whose   heads  do 
|V  beneath   their   shoulders " — creatures  all   the   more   terrible    by   reason    of   the   utter 
ieness   of  their   outlines    and  conditions.      And    we   used   to    play    at  being    Captain 
Lk,  who,  to  our  apprehension,  was  the  very  symbol  and  archetype  of  discoverers  ;  and, 
[he    and  his    heroic    band,  used    to  do  much  execution  among    the  heaped-up    sticks 
^he   wood-shed,   which   alternately,  or   rather    indiscriminately,   represented    the    Rocky 
mtains,   hosts   of  savage  foes,   or  such  a  menagerie  of  beasts  as   has  not   been    seen 
the  creation.     By-and-by  one  of  us  repeated   the   fable  of  "  Rasselas,"  which    is   the 
ague  of  Time,  left  behind  him  the  Happy  Valley  of  a  delighted  childhood,  and  went 
to  explore  the  world.      I  do  not  remember  that  any  wise  Imlac  began   that    long 
ley  in  Ijis  company,  nor  that   he   came   to   any  Cairo  where   he   spent   two  years   in 
king  the  Universal  Language,  and  where  every  man  was  happy.     On  the  contrary,  I 
Ifraid  that  Imlac,  who  stands  for  the  lessons  of  experience,  joined  him  only  after  long 
and  innumerable  scrapes  had  cost  him  dear  ;  and  that  the  Cairo  where  all  men  are 
ly  is  not  set  down  on  any  chart   by  which    he  took  his  way.     At   least  it  was   not 
between   Boston  and  San  Francisco,  nor  yet  between  that  golden  capital  and  Puget 
kd,  nor  did  any  spire  or  minaret  thereof  glitter  against  the  perfect  skies  of  Oregon, 
|»ci  the  wanderings  of  the  new  Rasselas  led  him.     But,  to  drop  metaphor,  which,  like 
jlio's  cross-garterings, "  obstructs  the  blood,"  it  was  I  who  made  the  journey  to  Ore- 
land  I  find  that  I  cannot    tell  a  comfortable    story  without   saying   so    in  the  begin- 


pi 

t 

K^,^.:^ 


l\  I? 


'^^'m. 


j^jwll  ' 


MULTANOMAf!     FALLS. 


m 


UP  AND   DOWN    THE    COLUMBIA. 


35 


lijng,  with   a   heart-felt    regret   that  I  am  not  Wallace,  or   that    most   charming   traveller, 
Mr.  John  Hay,  instead  of  myself 

Perhaps  oceans  change  their  habits  with  time,   like   climates  and   individuals.      It   is 
(Her  to  believe  that  in  1520   the    Pacific  lapsed   on   purple   islands    a   summer  sea,  than 
iiscredit  the  incorruptible    Magalhaens,  of   Portuguese  truth  and   directness,  with  wit- 
hy bewraying  the  trust  of  unborn  generations.     In   1869,  however,  it  had  become  the 
deceitful  of  waters,  with  a  horrible  swell  and  pitch  peculiar  to  itself  and  caves  full 
^ead-winds,  like  Atlantic  gales  grown  up,  out  on  their  travels,  and  equal  to  any  mis- 
Nor  is  the   Pacific  content  to  have  its  grim  way  with   you  only  while   you    are 
jwful  prey.     For  it  has  set  a  bar  at  the  mouth  of  the  Columbia,  which  for  nine  days 
the  best  seamanship  of  Captain  Robert  Gray,  of  the  good  [)ark  Columbia  Rediviva, 
named  the  beautiful  river  in   1792.      And  it  is  only  by  seizing  the  unwilling  tide  in 
narrowest  nick   of  time  that  the  pilot  compels  it  to  float  you  beyond  the  dangerous 
and   into   the   safety  of  the  stream.     Once  within  the  bar,  the  ship  seems  to  relax 
tense  nerve   and    fibre,  and   to   drift    on    the   current    like   a   spent   deer  which    has 
Oed  the  hounds.      And  so,  lazily,  you  come  to  Astcria. 

Lstoria,  fi)unded    by  the    Northwestern    l^'ur  Company,  was,  I    believe,  our  first  white 

2ment  in  the  Northwest,  and  it  v.'as  named  in  honor  of  John  Jacob  .\stor,  who  was 

energetic  spirit   of  the   company.     Astoria  is  a  nice  name  enough,  as  names  go,   and 

linly  better  than  Astor's  Corner,  Oi   Astorville,  or  New  Astoi.      But  to  be  a  mighty 

er,  or  only  to  liire  the  skill  of  mighty  trappers,  ha'-dly  entitles  a  man  to  build  him- 

monument  of  imperisiiable  earth,  and  wood,  and  water.     The  Astor   Library  com- 

jioratis  in   its  name  a  noble   benefaction.     Astoria  preser\'es  the  recolleeliop  "♦■  a  sharp 

luckv   instinct  of  trade.      However,  for  that   matter,  there  are   lianlly   tci         -n   in   a 

ition  for  whom   a  town  should  be  named.     Unless  Astor,  or  Lansing,  or  Lawrence, 

(lany-sided,  hospitable,  capable  of  large   results  and  endless   activities — unless"  there  be 

;i\inues    leading  to  temples  in   his  soul,  and  straight  ways  to    libraries,  museums, 

[jasiums,  schools,  in   his  brain — he   has   no  business  to   imjiress   his   image   and   super- 

tiim  on   liie  possiijlc  gern  of  all   this   completeness.     And,  if  he  have  this  right  .md 

i  hi    will   have  modesty   ()esides,  and    never   claim    it.      Alexandria   and    Rome   sound 

ly,  aiul  embalm  the  |)agan  virtues  of  hardiness,  courage,  force,  invincil)ility.     lM)r  the 

|\vliii   overran   the   younger  world  at  least  brought  blood,  brawn,  and    brains   out   of 

lii^sie  with  Nature  and  man.      Hut  our  century  pretends  to  a  dilTerent    civilization, 

ilcmns  without  hope  the  Anglo-Sa.xon  idiots  who,  in  this  age  and  in  this  republic, 

i-ted  nineteen  post-towns  with  the  name  of  Rome,  and   doomed  sixteen   to  stag- 

I  the  weight  of  Alexandria,  with  the  occasional  sullix  of  Centre,  Four  Corners, 

^■/ft/i.     AlexaHiin'a  Switch  !      Perhaps  we  all   privately  sympathize  with    the   senti- 

if  Horace  Walpole,  who  declared  that  he  should  be  very  fond  of  his  country  if  it 

>t  lor  his  countrymen!      In  the  name  of  grace  and  fitness,  let    us   keej)   the  sweet 


(IIKl 


I  K^^^ 


1       i 


36 


PICTURESQUE    AMERICA. 


Indian  appellatives  bequeathed  our  pleasant  places  by  a  vanishing  race;  and,  for  whateveil 
other  nomenclature  \vc  need,  lot  us  remember  only  the  "  high  souls,  like  some  far  staisj 
that  come  in  sight  once  in  a  century." 

Well,  we  came  to  Astoria  (which  should  have  been  Chetco')  in  the  late  afternoosi 
of  a  perfect  summer  Sunday.  The  river,  twelve  miles  wide,  lay  all  aglow  with  colof 
under  the  low  sun,  and  out  to  the  west  the  color  deep?ned  and  deepened  till  it  scciml 
to  be  no  longer  atmospiiere,  but  substance,  like  some  supernal  gem.  Astoria  is  such  I 
tiny  place  to  iiave  set  up  in  the  world  for  itself,  so  far  from  civilization  !     The  great  rivj 


Kuu.iUM    i(uck. 


stretches  like  a  sea  to  the  riorlii'   the  great  ocean  creeps  close  on  the  west;  and  (ni  1 
south  and  cast  the  forests  crowd  up  to  the  very  thresholds— such  forests  as  only  llu' a 
ning  woil    lud  wild-cat  can  fuid  their  way  in.     Vet,  as  the  twilight  fell,  the  little  churr 
bell  rang  with  a  sound  of  cheerful  confuUnce  in  a  responsive  congregation,  and  nnna|^| 
women  went  churchward,  and    liglits   glanced    in   the  windows,  and   a   little,  soft  ImIiix^ 
trembled  a  moment  in  the  air.      So  1  suppose  that  the  world   goes   on   there  jusi  asS 
d«jes  in  New  York  or  Nova  Zeml)la,  with  births  and  deaths  and  givings  in  marriai;c, 
envies  and  heartaches  and  sweet  charities.     liut  to  this  hour  1  t  .'nnot  think  of  that  jiS 


UP  AND   DOWN    THE    COLUMBIA. 


37 


and,  for  \vhatevei| 
ce  some  far  stan 

le    late   aftcrnoo; 
aglow  with   colo:| 
ed  till   it    secmij 
Astoria   is   such 
The  great  rive 


< 


west ;  and  mi ' 
s  as  only  tlu'  n 
.  the  little  ii 
It  ion,  and  nun  j; 
little,  soft  Iwbv-v 
1  there  jusi  :i> 
rs  in  marriam',^^ 
think  of  thai  air 


ivilization,  made  so  pathetically  small  by  the  vastness  of  sea  and  river  and  woods, 
without  a  little  pang  of  pity  for  what  seems  its  unutterable  loneliness ;  and  yet  I  dare 
say  it  sits  by  the  fire  in  supreme  satisfaction,  finds  the  keenest  zest  in  the  excitement  of 
thg;;  semi-weekly  stopping  of  the  steamer,  and,  if  it  condescended  lo  make  comparisons, 
,d  consider  New  York  at  a  disadvantage  as  to  situation.  That  beautiful  and  blessed 
ity  of  self-conceit,  without  whose  protection  the  contusions  of  every  day  would  keep 
US  morally  black  and  blue  from  head  to  foot,  not  only  saves  ourselves  from  the  buffet- 
logs  of  the  unworthy,  but  saves  also  our  kin,  our  neighborhood,  our  township,  even  our 
seksct-man,  unless  he  happen  to  belong  to  the  opposite  political  party. 

Very  late  the  long  twilight  faded,  ar.d  the  darkness  grew  alive  with  sound.     The  soft 
of  the  tide  and  the  murmur   of  the   great  woods  were   the   ever  recurring   lovely 
it  were,  with  which  unnumbered  variations  blended.     The   myriad    creatures  which, 
emv  summer-night,  seem  to  be  just  born,  and  to  try  vainly  to  utter  their  joy  in  stridu- 
voices,  piped  the  whole   chromatic   scale  with    infinite   self-satisfaction.      Innumerable 
ts  addressed  us  in  cadence  with  chcety  felicitations  on  our  safe  arrival  among  them; 
a  ^colony  of  tree-toads  interrupted  everybody  to  ask,  in   the  key  of  F   sharp   major,  after 
their  relatives  in  tiie  East,  and  to  make  totally  irrelevant  observations,  without  ever  wait- 
ing for   a   reply ;   and  the  swelling  bass  of  the  bull-frogs  seemed  to  be  thanking  Heaven 
thit   they  were   not    as    these    impertinents.      This    inarticulate  welcome,  this  well-known 
ition,  made  the  Pacific  seem  no  longer   strange,  but    Auniliar   as   the    shores   of  New- 
Bay,  and  it  would  not  greatly  have  surprised  us  to  open    our  eyes,  next    morning, 
he  barrenn>'ss  of  vSandy   Hook  or  the  fair  Heights  of  Brooklyn. 

What  they  really  saw,  howe\  i  r,  when  daybreak  found  us  far  up  the  Coluinbia,  was 
r  than  city  or  crowded  anchorage.  The  great  river,  still  lake-like  in  breadth  and 
ncss,  lay  rosy  in  the  dawn.  The  wonderful  forests,  whose  magnificence  our  taine  and 
dyii  imagination  eoulu  not  have  conceived,  came  down  from  farthest  distance  to  the 
vefy  margin  of  the  stream.  I'ines  and  firs  two  hundred  feet  high  were  tlie  sombre 
bi(§ground  against  which  a  tropical  splendor  of  color  tlickered  or  llameil  out,  for, 
e^  in  litis  early  September,  beeches  and  oaks  and  ash-trees  were  clothed  with  autumn 
;  and  on  tin-  north,  far  above  the  silence  of  the  river  and  the  splendid  shores,  four 
-crowneil,  rost-tlushed,  stately  mountains  lifted  themselves  to  heaven.  I'or  miles  and 
and  miles,  Mount  Adams,  Mount  .lefferson,  Mount  Rainier,  and  Mount  .St.  Helen's, 
gl.id  the  way.  Adains  and  Jefferson  have  an  unvarying  grandeur  of  form,  a  mas- 
stienglh  and  nobility,  as  it  becomes  them  to  inherit  with  their  names.  Mount  .St. 
-^  rises  in  lines  so  vague  and  so<"t  as  t<.  seem  like  a  cloud-mountain.  Rainier,  whose 
e^^  you  comprehend  only  when  you  see  it  from  I'uget  Sound,  looks,  even  from  the 
^immeasurable,  lying  snow-covered  from  base  to  peak, 
brtland,  one  hundred  and  ten  iniles  up  the  river,  is  the  point  of  debarkation  for 
n-Francisco  steamers,  and   there   is   much   to   be   said   abou'    that  busy  and  thrifty 


i 


littif 
Will 

Pbas 
uncc 
fine 
the  ; 
of  s( 
padd 
hour 
^^alarn 
as  it 
pole, 
sun 
if  wt 

a  mi 
glover 
%rour 
ing  t 
rock, 
of  wc 
the  ri 


cofl^n 

gray  ' 
of  tic 

wnil 


;astle  hocK. 


UP  AND    DOWN    THE    COLUMBIA. 


39 


;kinjr  hen  of  a  city.  But,  as  Portland  is  not  on  the  Columbia  at  all,  but  on  the 
Willamette,  twelve  miles  from  its  mouth,  it  may  not  now  be  told  what  golden  eggs  she 
has  laid.  The  little  steamer  which,  jilies  u  )  and  down  the  river  leaves  her  dock  at  the 
uncomfortable  liour  of  tlu-ec  o'clock  in  the  morning  or  thereabouts ;  and  that  must  be  very 
fine  scenery,  indeed,  which  reconciles  one  to  being  dragged  out  of  bed  in  the  middle  of 
the  night,  and  dumped,  hungry,  sleepy,  and  cross,  in  the  chilly  cabin  of  a  day-boat,  bare 
of  state-rooms  or  sofas.  The  \v  wliicli  dayliglit  brougiit  us  was  u  prospect  of  the  boat's 
paddle-boxes.  A  gray  mist  swallowed  U|)  every  tiling  beyond.  But  when  it  lifted,  three 
h(Mtrs  later,  it  was  worth  while  to  have  been  chilled  to  the  bone  with  its  cold,  and 
alanned  by  its  threat  of  showing  us  nothing,  to  see  what  it  really  had  to  show.  For, 
as  it  slowly  crept  back  to  the  shores  and  up  the  banks,  and  so  away  to  the  nortli- 
pote,  whieii  it  must  have  come  from,  river  and  shores  and  mountains  and  sky,  and  the 
sun  itself  came  out  upon  us  witii  such  intensity  of  ligiit  and  color  that  it  seemed  as 
if  WC  or  they  were  al)solutely  new  that  morning,  and  had  never  seen  each  other  before. 

Where  tiie  mists  lifted,  tiie  stream  flowed  clear  and  smooth  between  mountain-shores 
a  mile  ;md  a  half  apart,  and  rising  sharp  and  l)old  thousands  of  feet  in  air.  Forests 
covefed  their  rocky  sides,  sometimes  rising  to  the  very  top,  sometimes  dwmdling  into 
groups  and  thickets  as  they  climl)ed.  And  on  the  very  crest,  standing  alone  and  suck- 
ing their  lusty  life  frotn  the  inhosj)itable  stone,  lone  pines  shot  out  of  tiie  crevices  of 
rode,  looking,  so  far  above  us,  like  the  queer  anil  graceless  toy-trees  in  the  shilling  bo.xes 
of  wooden  s'.lJiers,  dear  to  the  heart  of  boyhood.  These  mountains  are  a  solid  wall  along 
the  iriver  for  miles  on  miles.  Sometimes  there  is  neither  rift,  nor  gorge,  nor  scar,  in  their 
hl^  sides.  Then  a  canyon  opens,  and  you  see  beyond  and  iieyond  other  mountains 
cfMHing  ilown  to  link  themselves  in  an  unending  chain,  and  glim|)ses  of  lar-ofT  levels  or 
gnqf  fields  of  rock  bounding  the  vision.  Sometimes  a  water-fall  dazzles  and  dances  out 
of  li|e  sky,  a  little,  tluttering,  quivering  cobweb  at  fust;  then  a  floating  ribbon;  tluii  a 
WIBwblown  veil  of  sjiray ;  then  a  cascade,  leaping  from  rock  to  rock,  forty,  sixty,  a  hun- 
dmjl  tliirc  iuuidri'd  feet  ;  tiien  a  swift,  resistless,  triumphant  rush  of  water,  swirling  and 
wikming  toward  the  river  of  its  love* 

'ct,  if  shores   and  water-falls  were    beautiful,  the  forests  were  the  crowning  glory  of 

lace.      First    in    rank,  again,  stood   the   pines   and    fns— if  they  ivcrc  pines  and  fiis. 

looked  to  me  like  some  celestial  sort  of  grown-up,  feathery  ground-evergreen.     And 

fcould  expect  a  pine  to  rise,  straight  and  fair,  three   hundred   feet,  a  glimpse   of   red- 

l>()ils  warm  through  the  foliage  of  the  lesser  trees,  and  a  glory  of  sprea<ling,  plumy, 

n  i)oughs,  so  purely  outlined  that  every  little  tuft  of  them  looked  as  if  it,  and  it 
till    been    finished    specially  to   show  how  perfect    a    thing   a    tree-branch    may  be 


^--^ 


If"  11   the  e 


njoyment  of  the  woodpeckers   and   the   slugs?      Seeing   these   pines,  one 


See  Multanumah  FalU. 


ff' 


m 


.{ 


40 


PICTURESQUE   AMERICA. 


M% 


understands  the  Northern  myth  of  tlie  tree  V(>gdrasill,  at  whose  feet  flowed  sacred  foitt|^ 
tains  and  whose  brandies  upheld  the  world. 

Then  came    the  cotton-woods,    and  the  cotton-wood   is  to   the   Western   settler 
symbol   of  intermeddling   and   knavish    incapacity.      He   considers   it  the  "dead  beat"( 
the  vegetable  kingdom,  usurping  ground  that  belongs  to  honester  growths,  making  gn 
pretensions   to   an   early  and   useful  maturity,    and   no  better   than    a   pipe-stem   in  valJ 


i^ii 


The  Cascades 


when  the  axe  claims  it.       Vet    there    crowded   these   plausible   cotton-woods,  standing 
idly  gracious  and  welcoming  all  along  the  shores  in  such    goigeousness  of  golden  splf 
dor,  and  in  such  royal  ease  and  grace  of  attitude,  that  one  forgets  their  good-for-nothii; 
ness  and  their  general  bad  name  among  the  virtuous  and  useful  trees,  and  takes  thcin 
his   heart    at    once.      A    tree  whose   polished,  brilliant   leaf    looked    like  our   maple,  a' 
whose  scarlet,  pendent  swinging  boughs  looked  like  darting  orioles,  we  were  forbidilcn . 


'!l« 


lowed  sacred  four 

k'^estern   settkr  !■ 
lie  "  dead  beat ' 
rths,  making  org 
pipe-stem   in  valt 


^^  — 


.'/fff/^V/V- CHUtJH  _ 


S^-r^^^^^^^ 


:oods,  standing  |, 
of  golden  spij 
pood-for-nothJJ 
iiid  takes  thein( 
e  our   mapli 
were  forbidli 


S.-1*. 


CAPE     MURN. 


,.•, 


42 


PICTURESQUE    AMERICA. 


consider  a  familiar  friend,  a  very  learned    i)undit  assurin,<r    us   that    there  were    no   m,i|  -    Jjke 
on  the  river.     That  was  the  only  vegetation  with  whieli  we  were   bold  enough  to  set      burro 
the  plea  of  acquaintance,  every  thing  else  being    ([uite   too   splendid    to   countenance  A  sible 
claim  (if  kinship  with  the  paler  and  punier  growths  of  our  ascetic  climate.  Kmake 

Sometimes,  so  far  above  our  heads  that  they  looked  like  pigmies  at  play.  \vc  sawi^meig* 
lumbermen  getting  out  logs  which  came  tearing  down  the  rugged  sluice-ways  to  the  rid 
More  seldom,  even,  did  a  single  logger's  hut  appear,  like  a  hang-bird's  nest,  far  up  ami 
the  rocks,  making  the  place  look  wilder   than   the  wilderness,  because   this   little   stniej 
toward  civilization  and  domesticity  was  so  overborne   by  the  savagery  of   Nature.    'R^* 
half-cleared  places  had  a  certain  repulsiveness,  too.     Nature  carefully  hides  unsightly-i 
with  shrubs  and  bushes,  and,  when  her  dead  trees  fall,  she  tenderly  adorns  the  wreck  i . 
make  with  vines   and   mosses.       But,  when    nnn    comes   in  with  rude   and    indiscrimini 
rapine,  she    is    profaned,  and    will    long    leave    the  place  to  his  clumsy  keejjing,  tlirovr 
neither  vine    nor  moss,  nor  veiling  shadow  even,  across   the   scars    of  his  occupation, 
that  those  half-clearings  looked  rough  and  coarse  as  the  lives  of  the  inhabitants. 

Sometimes  the  liver  flowed  straight  and  untroubled.     Sometimes  the  mountains -v 
round  into  its  path,  and  the  stream  bent  and  parted  on  rocky  mounds  or  islands,  and 
shallow,    (listurl)ed,   and    dangerous.     Straightway  it    quieted    into    chains    cjf   narrow  1 
without  visible    outlet,  whereon  we    sailed    close    u|)    (o    lofty,  impassable    shores,  likr 
walls   of   Sinbad's  valley,  but,  turning   suddenly  on   our   track,  found   unexpected   M. 
ance.     Tlien.  looking  back,  the  w.iy  was  lost  by  which  we  had  come.     Here,  in  the  soli 
mountains,  we  were  alone.      No  world   behind — no  worid    before.     The    sense  of  solitij 
was  too  vast    to    be    painful.      Hut  we  felt    as    escaping    prisoners  feel  when  we    thrcai 
our  way  through  a  narrow  rift  of  stone  into  the  wonderful   stream    that   grew  more  \ii 
derful  as  we  sailed.     For,  just  there,  walls  of  basalt  in  vast  ledges,  rising  sheer  and  stng 
from    the   shore,  overtopped    the    farther    mountains.      Rifted    bowlders,  like  Castle  Ra 
stood  alone,  their  base  waslied  by  the  river,  their  heads  upholding  the  sky.     Majestic- 
parts,    like    Cape    Horn,    rose,  a    vast,  columnar   wall,    sometimes    .seven    hundred   feet| 
height.     Columns,  and  obelisks,  and  shafts,  lilted  themselves  with  a  mightier  strenirthi 
a  more  majestic  grace  than   architecture   has    been    able    to   achieve.     An.'    throughly 
stately  gate-ways  we  came  to  the  Cascades. 

The   (Cascades   are   the   fierce   and   whirling    rai)ids  wherein   the   river  falls  forty 
twenty  feet  of  it   being  taken  almost  at  a  leap.     Hut  for  live  miles  the  river  is  a  w^ 
ing  whirlpool,  and   a   queer   little  railroad   on    the   Washington   side   alTords   the   |)ciri|| 
The    track    runs    so    near   the   water's   edge   that   om-   has  a  view   of  these   rapids  fdr' 
whole  way,  from   the    Midille    Hlock-house,  relic   of  not    unrcmote    Indian   wars,  I" 
drowned   forest   above  the   upper  landing.      The   whole  river-bed   is  gigantic   rocks  ^ 
times    hidden    by   liie    water,    sometimes    tearing    through    the    water    to    make    shii] 
naked  islands,  between  which  the  current   rushes  down,  white  with  foam  and  with   i 


UP  AND   DOV/N    TH/i    COLUMBIA. 


43 


;rc  were   no   nii; 
d  enough  to  set 
to   countenana 
Tiate. 

at  play,  we  saw 
ice-ways  to  the  ri; 
;  nest,  far  up  am 

this  httle  strut. 
'  of  Nature.  Tl; 
hides  unsightly  ?] 
lorns  the  wreck  i: 
;  and  indiseriniir: 
;y  keeping,  throw 
his  occupation, 
inhahitants. 
the  mountains  sw 
is  or  islands,  and  ■ 
lins  of  narrow  k 
;able    shores,  like: 

unexpected  ddi 
Here,  in  the  soli; 
he  sense  of  solii 
■1  when  we  tlirw 
lat  grew  more  v 
ig  siieer  and  stii:, 
rs,  like  Castle  K 

sky-  Majestic  r. 
^en  hundred  fat 
nightier  strength 

i\v :'    through  t 

river  falls   fnrtv 
the  river  is  a  ^ 
alTords    the   \ww. 
these   rapids  fur 
Indian   wars,  In 
.jigantic  rocks,  - 
to    make    sliiii 
im  and  with   i 


like  the  sea.  Round  the  rocks  and  between  the  rocks  and  over  the  rocks,  and  almost 
bunov/ing  under  the  rocks  in  its  force,  in  those  five  miles  the  river  takes  on  every  pos- 
sible form  of  cascade.  Yet  where  we  take  steamer  again,  a  moment  before  the  river 
makes  its  first  plunge,  it  is  as  quiet  as  the  Connecticut,  and  washes  along  over  sub- 
meiged  stumps  like  any  slow  bayou. 

Being  horn  under  a  lucky  star,  Imlac  and  I  were  invited  to  ride  on  the  engine,  nay, 


[very  cow-catcher.     It   is   impossible  to  imagine  a   madder  excitement.      With  the 

Jtremendous    motive-power  behind  you   forgotten,  you    seem    to    be    flying,  without 

drawback  of  having  to   flap  your  wings.     The  wild   river  to   the   right  of  you. 

mountains  close  on  your  left  hand ;  your  Might  through  rifts  and  chasms  of  stone 

eem  ever  crowding  forward  with  an  evil-minded  will  to  shut  you  in ;  just  a  glimpse 

skv  far  above,  such  as  miners  see  from  the   bottom   of  the  black  shaft  •    a  fierce 


4+ 


PICTURliSQUli    AMERICA. 


riisli  and  roar  of  wind  that  strikes  down  your  very  eyelids— this  is  riding  on  tlic  c. 
catcher  in  the  canyon  of  the  Columbia.  Half  blinded  as  we  were,  wc  saw,  as  we  pa^, 
it,  the  great  sides  of  Rooster  Rock  and  a  little  log-house  beneath.  This  was  the  sctJ 
of  Lieutenant  Philip  II.  Sheridan's  first  battle.  Here,  in  1S56,  a  small  party  of  whj 
men  was  for  two  days  besieged  by  a  strong  force  of  Indians;  and  here  the  irrepri'sv 
lieutenant,  tired  of  his  wise  and  masterly  inactivity,  determined  to  attack  in  his  turn,  . 
totally  routed  the  enemy  in  a  very  whirlwind  of  a  charge. 

Now  you  arc  in  the  heart   of  the  mountains.     Soon    the   rock  walls  approach  u 
other,  and  the  stream   flows  narrower  and  fiercer.      The  wind  roars  through  the  tjoi;* 


I't'.ik  of  Kcd   Kotk 


and    in    the   spring,  when    the   banks   arc    full,  beats    u])   such   waves    that  a   boat  w        of  su] 
live  in  them,  though  these  straits  are  two   hundred   miles   from   the  sea.      The  w  1  dredtfli 

basaltic,  columnar,   rising   in   distinct,   rudely-modelled    pillars    from    four   hundret!  fut  j^Jn  its 
twelve  hundred.      Now  and  then,  a  bold  rampart   measures   two    thousand   five  lunr^or  flat 
feet  or  even  more.     The  receding  or  advancing  cliffs  break  the  river  into  a  chain  oft 
lakes.     Wherever  the  mountains   fall   back   on   the  south.  Mount   Hood   fills  the  hora- 
snow-covered,  shining,  vast.     Mount   Hood  is  fourteen  thousand  feet  in  height,  and 
mortifying  to  admit  that  Mont  Blanc   is   almost  sixteen  thousand.      But,  with    tlii^ 
ground  of  river  and  forest,  with  all  this   bl  ize  of  color  set  against  the  cold   splciidrai 
the   icy  peak,  and  with  the  blue  intensity  of  the  warm  skv  above.  Mount   Hood  is  rot 


UP  AND   DOWN    THE    COLUMBIA. 


45 


riding  on  tlu:  w, 
saw,  as  we  pa- 
his  was  the  so 
lall  party  ol  \\\ 
re  the  irrc]tiv^ 
:k  in  his  turn,  a 

-alls  approach  n 
hrough   the  i^oij 


magnificent  than  words  can  tell  or  brush  can  paint.     And,  if  any  "vagrom"  man,  having 
seen  the   two,  pretends  to  think   Mont  Blanc  the  finer,  let  us,  as  Americans,  laugh  him 

to  scorn. 

Where  the  mountains  recede  before  Mount  Hood,  the  forest  again  encroaches,  but  it 
leaves  bare  a  desolate  peak  called  Coffin  Rock,  which  was  a  place  of  Indian  s';pulture. 
Cairns  of  gray  stones  cover  it,  and  rude  monuments  of  rock.  One  is  not  near  enough 
to  see  the  vilcness  of  the  human  taint  upon  it—  for  your  true  Indian  in  his  death  is  little 
better  than  in  his  life,  and  bequeaths  himself,  a  foul  legacy,  to  the  pure  elements — and  its 
gray  melancholy  is  pathetic. 

tThe  Dalles  is  the  second  town    of  Oregon.     The  Idaho    miners   make    it   their   base 


that  a  boat  car 
;ea.      The  \v  ill- 
ur    hundred  fm 
usand    five  liuir 
nto  a  chain  ofr 
id  fills  the  hori; 
n  height,  and  i:  ^ 
3ut,  with    tliis  ! 
ic  cold  spkndoi' 
junt   Hood  is  it 


Cortin   Rock. 


Bpplics.  The  gold  comes  down  there  for  shijiment,  and  this  babe  in  the  woods  even 
s  of  a  mint.  But  its  interest  to  the  traveller  is  neither  in  grocery  nor  in  ore,  but 
wonderful  outlook  on  river  am'  mountain.  For  ten  miles  up  the  stream  the  dalles, 
stones,  choke  the  way,  and  there  you  must  take  to  the  cars  again.  Here  the 
e,  weather-beaten,  weary-looking,  old  red  rock  reappeared,  after  a  long  absence, 
ig,  amid  tiie  harder  and  bolder  cliffs,  like  a  poor  relation,  pathetic,  but  very  seedy, 
ueer,  battered,  time-worn  peak   on  the  opposite  page  is  of  it. 

e  cliffs  disappear  above  Dalles  City,  and  In,  the  sand-region!  The  endless  wonder 
I'aeific-coast  journeys  is  the  suddenness  of  their  changes,  as  if  supernatural  scene- 
wire  kept  constantly  busy  in  whipping  off  the   old  scenes,  and  setting  new  and 


I 


Itft''- 1 


46 


/VC"  TURESQ  UE    A  ME  RICA. 


1 
'I 


unexpected   ones   for   the   next   act.      Imoiii    forests   of  trojjie   splendor   to   mountains 
northern    bareness   and   grandeur,  from   still    poad   to   roaring   cataract,  from   verdure  aij 
cultivation  into  Sahara,  you  pass  without  the  least  hint  from  Nature  of  what  she  nitaj 
to  do  five  minutes  hence.      I'ussibly   Science   gets   the  better  of  her,  and   finds   out  I 
whimsical    intentions ;    but   to   the    unlearned   she   seems  to  have  gotten  a  little   tipsy 
that  wonderful  air — which  would  intoxicate  the  soberest— and  not  to  be  quite  sure  of] 
own  mind.     Her  desert  on  the  Columbia  is  a   lively  suggestion  of  her  greater  works  i| 
ihe   same   order   in    Egypt   or  elsewhere.      It   looks  a  limitless  plain  of  hot   white  saJ 


Passage  of  the  Dalle:.. 


"1 


The   wind    is   a    hurricane,   and   seems   to    blow    from   every   point   at   once,   so   that  ; 
heavens  rain  a  sandy  shower.     The  shifting,  sifting  sand  covers  the  track.     Men  in  si:     ,^.1 
white  gr.rments,  with   sand-white  beards  and  hair,  blindly  delve  along  the  rails   to  cleJ 
them,  and  limp  aside  with  sand-stiff  joints  that  seem  to  creak,  as  we  go  by.     The  sk}  1 
a  pale-blue  vault,  faded  out  by  this  torrid  plain.     The  sun   is  veiled,  intense,  and  colorles 
The  earth   is  like  a  place  of  graves,  as  if  millions  of  men,  whole   peoples,  whole  r;ia<| 
had  been  buried  there  and  forgotten.     But,  if  Nature  had  ever  set  any  race  there,  it  mis 
have  been  of  the  lowest — in  mind  vacant,  in   body  vile,  in  worship  regarding  stones 


UP  AND   DOWN    THE    COLUMBIA. 


M 


r  to  mountains 
from  vcrdiiic  a; 
of  what  she  nua; 
and  finds  out  \ 
;n  a  little  tijjsy 
e  quite  sure  ofl 
:r  greater  works  i 
)f  hot   white  sar 


once,  so  that  i^ 
ck.  Men  in  sir 
the  rails  to  ili 
o  by.  The  sk\ 
ense,  and  colnrlr 
)ples,  whole  r.K 
race  there,  it  niib 
jarding  stones  a' 


wfld  animals,  its  only  symbols  of  steadfastness  and  power.  And  when  on  the  flat- 
shore  rocks  we  saw  the  bark  lodges  of  the  Trascopin  Indians,  vile  children  and  viler 
men  and  vilest  women  swarming  within  and  without,  we  felt  that  they  were  accounted 
for — stupidity,  dishonesty,  beastliness,  and  all— and  had  no  disposition  to  cast  a  stone 
at  them. 

The  fifteen  miles  of  portage  show  superb  river  scenery  wherever  the  sand  will  let 
you  see  it.  It  is  a  succession  of  rapids,  falls,  and  sucking  currents,  where  the  dullcs,  or 
datik — rough  trougiis  or  llag-stones,  wliich  have  given  their  name  to  the  place — make 
croi^ed  and  narrow  rihannels  for  the  stream.  Every  form  which  water  may  put  on,  ever)' 
tiat  with  which  it  can  be  beautiful,  every  caprice  of  motion  with  which  it  can  move, 
fiJMls  illustration  in  tiiis  Columbia.  Below  the  great  fall,  the  whole  volume  of  the  stream 
. — ^whose  branches  stretch  north  through  British  Columbia,  east  through  Idaiio  and  Mon- 
tana, south  and  west  into  Nevada,  and,  reaching  down,  gather  in  the  ic}'^  rivulets  of  the 
Rooky  Mountains — pours  through  a  gate-way  not  fifty  yards  in  width,  whose  sides  are 
perpendicular  precipices,  hewn  as  with  implements.  Smooth  and  green  and  glassy,  it 
stidi?  under  brown  shadows  but  to  be  torn  again  into  a  hundred  ribbons  by  rocks 
belc^,  as  it  has  just  been  torn  by  rocks  above.  At  the  falls  it  is  a  mile  wide,  and 
plui^es  over  a  rocky  wall  tvventy  feet  high  and  stretching  from  shore  to  shore. 

.Here  are  the  famous  Salmon   Falls,  up  which  the  salmon  go  to    the   quiet    reaches 

e  river  to  spawn,  shooting  the  rapids  with  incredible  agility.     If  you  can  keep  your 

g  on  the  slippery  ledges  of  rock,  you  watch  them,  fascinated.     Up  they  come  through 

fierce   and   sucking   rapids,  gleaming   white    against   the   black   stones   that    here   and 

tear   the  water ;   first   come   a   few  together ;   then   a  multitude'  swirls   along ;    then 

tte  whole  river  from  side  to  side  is  light  with  their  innumerable   host.      And  they  mind 

precipice   and  torrent  no  more  than  if  it  were  a  summer  pool  within  its  reedy  mar- 

They  swim  swift  and  stately  to  the  very  foot,  where  you  lose  them   in  the  seeth- 

White   whirlpool.      Something   flashes   in   the    air,   elastic,   strong,   light.      Something 

up   the  stream  above  the  fall.     The  daring,  determined,  wonderful  thing  has  made 

leap,  defied  rock  and  torrent,  and  found  its  safe  shelter   in   the   quiet    pool    beyond. 

here   is  the   flash,  and   then  a    struggle,  and  the   poor  bruised   creature,  wounded   to 

against  the  sharp-edged   stones,   drops   back    upon  the  cuTent,   and   floats   down   a 

track,  dying  after  a  little  while.     So  they  come,  and   come,  and  come— such    myri- 

them— and   leap,  and  win,  or  lose,  for  all   the  h(Hirs  of  the  day  and   for  half  the 

the  year. 

11  over  the  rocks  at  the  foot   of  the  fall   flutter  the  very  scanty  and  disreputable 

which  the  noble  savage  invests  minute  and  accidental  portions  of  his  body.     We 

ire  saw  the  forest-god  whom  Cooper  believed  in,  nor  yet  the  statuesque    and    noble 

whom  Ward  has  found.      It    is    not    possible    to    imagine    human    creatures    more 

antic,  more  indecent,  more  loathsome,  more   inhuman,  than    the  visible    Indian  who 


.  w^ 


48 


PICTURESQUE   AMERICA. 


f' 


hi 


;§'.'. 


appears  along  every  line  of  travel  from  the  Kansas  border  to  the  northwestern  boundai 
That  typical  warrior  who  should  be  capable  of  declaring — 

"  Blaze  with  your  serried  columns  ! 
I  will  not  bend  the  knee ; 
The  shackles  ne'er  again  shall  bind 
Tlie  arm  which  now  is  free  t  " — 

lives  in  the  mountain-fastnesses,  if  lie  live  at  all,  and  does  not  corrupt  his  good  maniKj 
with  the  evil  communications   of   pale-faces.      The  red  man    of  the    plains,  of  the   rivea 
of  the  railroad  and  stage-coach  neighborhoods,  belongs  to  the  universal  genus  loafer,    [jj 


ill 


Salmon   I'alla. 


is  a  mighty  hunter  only  of  other  men';,  corn  and  eggs.     .Savage  virtues,  if  there  be  aiivi 
liave  departed   from  liiin,  and  civilized  vices  clothe  liim  as  will  a  garment.     These  irag 
copins  along  (he  Columbia   live  chitlly  on   the  salmon,  and,  when  they  have  dried,  twig 
over,  all  that   even  their  gluttony  can  desire,  they  still  go  to  die  falls,  day  after  d,iy,  > 
for  mere  wantonness  of  cruelty  spear  the  beautiful  fish  and  throw  thein  out  on  the  sti 
to  die  there   horribly,  and  rot   and  inftct   the  air.      The  ledges  were   slimy  with  (l<i.n 
salmon,  and  abounded  with  a  horrid  parasitic  life.     Sight  and  smell  drove  us  (juicklv  aw 
but   the  noiile   savage   tvitlently  enjdved  it  all.      Voii  do  not  care  for  their  thieving,  j 
ii.ijis;    fur,  besides   that    you   own   neither  cornfields  nor   hen-roost  within   three   tlmii^ 
miies,  you    rellect    that    our  worthy  ancestois  set  them  a  large  example  in  that  wa* 


hwestem  boundaJ 


his  good  mannis 
ains,  of  the  rive 
genus  loafer.    hI 


•is.'. 


OS,  if  there  be 
incnt.     These  Tn 
>■  have  ilricd,  twij 
day  aflci  il.iy, 
I  out  oil  llir  ston 
limy  with  dccavk 
/c  us  (juitkl\  aw, 
their  Ihicviiij;,  \^'\ 
lin    three   thuusjsi 
jle  in  that  way, 


mmmmmm 


n 


UP  AND    DOWN    THE    COLUMBIA. 


49 


begin  with.  Moreover,  thieving  rises  into  a  notaijle  industry,  when  the  alternative  of  idle 
haiids  is  this  sickening  barbarity.  But  you  do  care  for  all  their  ignorance  and  dirt,  and 
foulness  and  disease ;  and  you  arc  pricked  for  weeks  afterward  with  a  sense  of  personal 
responsibility  in  the  matter,  that  clings  like  the  shirt  of  Nessus. 

And,  with  whatever  contemptuous  pity  you  regard  these  step-children  of  Nature,  it 
is  Uppossible  not  to  believe  that  the  sum  of  the  united  Trascopins  and  Arapahoes,  and 
.•ihttihones,  and  Pahutes,  and  Crows,  and  of  all  other  ill-conditioned  tribes  there  be,  does 
u^|k[ual  in  value  to  humanity  the  single  unit  of  young  Loring's  life.  Therefore,  it 
wodk  seem  tliat  there  must  be  a  proper  Indian  policy  somewhere  between  the  indiscrimi- 
rate  wiping  out  which  the  frontiersman  insists  on  and  the  peppermint-candy  wiles  of 
Mr.  Colycr.  The  Howard  who  shall  devise  it  will  bring  peace  to  the  tender  consciences 
of  all  travellers  who  have  seen  the  Indian  at  home,  and  have  carried  the  consciousness 
of  hfili  as  a  nightmare  ever  since. 

'%■  feci  that  I  should  ask  pardon  of  the  polite  reader  for  this  most  unhandsome  epi- 
sode, and  of  the  sentimentalist  for  the  callousness  of  these  observations.  But  the  Indian 
is  just  what  I  have  drawn  him,  and  it  seems  as  if  we  might  sooner  settle  the  "perplexing 
problem  of  what  to  do  with  him  if  our  chameleon  policy,  whether  of  peace  or  war,  con- 
templated the  actual  creature,  and  not  a  figment  of  the  brain  of  the  philanthropist  on 
the  one  hand,  and  of  the  border-settler  on  the  other.  For  my  own  part,  I  believe  that 
not  <^ly  are  not  all  the  aborigines  of  the  West  worth  one  high-hearted  young  Loring, 
but  tjjat  Darwin  himself,  on  seeing  them,  would  be  constrained  to  accord  them  slow  and 
multiplied  centuries  to  "mount  tiirough  the  various  spires  of  form"  before  they  should 
reach*  the  negative  and  harmless  excellence  of  the  poor  fish  tliey  slaughter. 

And,  if  this  phase  is  tlie  very  worst  of  savage  life,  and  an  unfair  exhibition  of  their 
teodftacics,  wliy,  1  have  seen  the  very  best  phase  as  well,  and  I  found  it  very  disappoint- 
|l  spent  some  time  once  at  a  Catholic  mission  among  the  Potawatamies,  and  I 
ly  botanized  among  the  transplanted  wild  shoots.  The  school  was  a  triumph  of 
The  young  barbarians,  in  formal  jackets  and  trousers,  inexpressibly  uglier  than  their 
rags  or  their  yet  more  native  dull-red  skins,  were  frowned  down  by  big  black- 
ami  confronted  by  verbs  and  definitions  and  the  multiplication-table,  and  in  every 
EadfiiUy  put  upon  by  star-eyed  Science.  They  were  letter-perfect.  1  do  not  re- 
that  they  blundered  in  an  answer.  They  even  divided  fractions,  and  their  l>e- 
ruck  me  into  amazement  and  admiration,  as  Hamlet's  affected  the  queen;  for  it 
ig  /  can't  do.  Rut  they  were  only  as  so  many  puppets  pulled  by  a  string.  The 
lesi^t^  tii(  lilt  absolutely  nothing  to  them;  they  had  not  an  idea  Why  you  should 
divithria  iMction,  they  had  no  more  notion  than  the  wooden  rosaries  thev  all  wore, 
wheteai  /  ^ee  a  possible  propriety  in  the  impossible  achievement,  which  shows  a  superior 
mMltld  eiiildwment.  All  the  individuality  was  ground  out  of  tiu-  poor  little  pn|)pets. 
After  Jilt    geography-lesson  was  written    on   them,  it   was    rui)bed   out,  as  it  were,  and   a 


PT 


■WP 


50 


P/C  TURESQ  UE  A  ME  RICA. 


grammar-lesson  was  set  down  in  its  place;  and  then  the  sponge  of  the  next  text-1 
erased  every  trace  of  noun  and  verb,  and  tiie  surface  was  blank  for  the  catechism 
hymn,  or  whatever  came  next.  When  school  was  dismissed,  the  little  martyrs  did  not 
to  play,  as  lusty  white  boys  tly.  They  moped  away  by  themselves,  holding  no  coninii 
with  each  other,  too  broken-spirited  even  to  stare  at  the  visitors  or  to  show  an\  c;ic 
ness  as  to  the  appropriation  of  pennies  very  liberally  bestowed.  Some  of  them  hn 
their  backs  and  looked  at  the  sky,  and  the  rest  mooned  about  so  vacantly  thai  it 
imi)ossible  for  any  thing  else  to  be  so  slow  and  indifierent  except  a  snail.  When  t 
grow  up,  it   looked   as   if  they  would   cither  go    back  to  the  wild  life  or  settle  down 


I 
I 


Indians  on  ihc  Ciihiinhia. 

the  (lciialal)lc  i)order  with  the  most  scanijjish  of  the  white  squatters,  and  pois<m 
dull  blood  with  the  coarse  but  necessary  excitement  of  bad  whiskey.  No,  it  is  11 
education  does  not  agree  with  the  Indian  blood,  and,  when  you  try  to  make  tli 
handed  Ishmael  put  on  viir  -.oays,  lie  merely  loses  his  own,  and  is  more  lazy  and  m 
vicious. 

Above    the    Dalles   the   forests  disappear;   nay,  every  leaf  vanishes,  and   for  milo 
miles    the    banks   are   covered   with    thick    brown    grass,  wlieieiii   not  even  a  mullci 
springs.     'Ihe  scenery  is  tame,  and  the  most  eager  tourist  seldom  ventures  above  Wrj: 
Harbor,   two   hundred    and    lifly    miles    from    the   sea.      Steamers    ply,  however,  for 


hundred    miles,   and    th 


in,   after   a    portage   along    impassable    lapids,   an    odd    lilt 


UP  AND   DOWN    THE    COLUMBIA. 


51 


le    next   tcxt-k. 

the  catechism 
nartyrs  did  not 
dinji  no  comnn 
o  show  an)  t,i. 
e  of  them  lav 
acantly  that  it 
snail.      When  1 

or  settle  down 


K- 


rs,  and  poi'-nn 
N\),  it  is  lb 
to  make  ilii- 
)iT  lazy  anil  n  : 

OS,  and   loi  imii 

even  a  inullcni- 

iites  abov(  W 

,   howcvci,  I'll 

an    odd    liltlt 


rans  up  the  Snake  River,  in  Idaho.  When  the  great  railroad  shall  connect  the 
head-waters  of  the  Missouri  with  the  head-waters  of  the  Columbia,  the  six  hundred 
miles  of  track  will  open  an  incalculable  wealth  to  trade,  and  the  most  magnificent 
wilderness  of  the  world  to  travel.  But  at  present,  what  with  ubiquitous  savages,  and 
perils  of  cold  and  hunger,  and  lost  trails,  it  is  as  v/ell  to  pause  at  Cclilo,  not  far  above 
the  falls.  There,  having  inspected  "the  largest  warehouse  in  the  L'nited  States,  being 
over  eleven  hundred  feet  in  length,  and  built  to  receive  the  Idaho  freights,"  as  the  sta- 
tion-master informs  you  in  a  solemn  recitative,  and  there  being  nothing  else  in  or  of 
Celilo  that  unanointed  eyes  can  behold,  you  are  speedily  ready  for  your  train.  And 
so  back  you  go,  leaving  the  falls  and  salmon  and  savage,  leaving  desert  and  whirl- 
pool and  whirlwind,  at  your  back,  anil  not  reluctantly  returning  to  the  common-sense 
and  conventions  of  decent  and  sober  Dalles.  All  the  Dallesese,  I  remember,  were 
"assisting"  at  a  Sabbath-school  festival  when  we  arrived,  and,  going  to  bed  on  the  boat, 
we  seemed  consequently  to  have  inhaled  a  whitT  of  New-England  air,  and  to  sleep  the 
better  for  it. 

To  come  down  the  river  in  the  early  morning,  with  the  clear  eastern  light  be- 
hind you,  is  almost  finer  than  to  sail  eastward,  with  the  glow  of  the  sunset  over  moun- 
tain and  stream.  Certainly  Mount  Hood  lay  more  stately  calm  and  fair,  (|uite  apart, 
rising  lonely  from  a  far,  upward-going  plain,  white,  glittering,  perfect.  Mount  Adams 
und  Mount  Jefferson,  also,  seemed  to  win  a  charm  from  the  presence  of  the  pure  morn- 
ing; and  we  had  not  in  the  least  understood  Mount  Rainier  until  tiiis  second  coming 
before  it.  Under  the  blue  heavens  it  rose  in  soft  and  tender  liftings,  till  its  triple  crown 
ovdrtop|)C(l  Mount  Hood  itself  From  Puget  Sound,  the  view  of  it  is  grander,  but  not 
Sp  lovely ;  and,  as  we  watched  it,  it  seemed  even  more  worthy  to  be  rememi)ered  than 
et  St.  Helen's. 

tTJHre  are  actually  many  hundreds  of  persons,  no  b.etter  than  ourselves,  who  are 
allowed  lo  live  all  their  years  in  the  presence  of  these  five  mountains;  but  we  did  not 
see  the  liuman  likeness  of  the  Great  Stone  Face  anywhere,  und  we  observed  liiat  worries, 
and'^sonows,  and  sickness,  and  even  death,  came  to  them  as  to  us.  So,  when  it  sci-med 
best^  we  were  content  to  I'-ave  the  enchanted  river  l-ehind  us,  and  to  come  back  to  the 
pr  I'.ast,  wluie,  if  work  and  care  and  pain  awaited  us,  duty  as  surely  waited  foi 
po.  .And,  as  we  reluctantly  sailed  away  from  the  friendliness  we  had  found,  and 
the  majestic  forests  and  the  gracious  mountains,  we  seemed  to  Inar  in  the  ripple 
'.vavcs  tliese  words  of  a  most  sweet  philosopher:  "Let  us  remember  witiiin  wliat 
I  we  lie,  and  understand  that  this  level  life,  too,  has  its  summit,  and  why  from  th.- 
tain  top  the  deepest  valley  has  its  tinge  of  blue;  that  there  is  elevation  in  ;  very 
.1  no  part  of  the  earth  is  so  low  that  the  heavens  may  not  be  seiii  from  it, 
R'e  have  only  to  stand  on  the  summit  of  our  hour  to  command  an  uninterrupted 
horiptn." 


,(ffp 


LOOKOUT    MOUNTAIN    AND    THE    TENNESSEE 


WITH    ILLUSTRATIONS    HY    HARRY    FENN. 


^^"^^     ^^J'        -"■'■•^''" 


TT  rained  tlu'  first  day  \vc  were    -,  ■..^'\v 
*-    at  Chattanooga.     It  raintd  tlie  p 

second  day.  The  waters  came 
down  in  ceaseless  Hoods,  and  Lookout  Moun- 
tain, with  its  head  hurled  in  the  mist, 
seemed,  as  seen  from  our  hotel  -  window, 
lum|)ish  and  uninteresting  enough.  "After 
all,"  thought  1,  watching  the  spiritless  mass 
through  the  thick  lances  of  rain,  "  Leigh 
Hunt  was  right.  A  great  mountain  is  a 
great  humhug.  Look  at  this!  A  huge, 
formless  hump,  a  colorless,  dead  ])rotul)er- 
ance,  that  obstructs   rather    than    supplies    a 


NESSEH. 


LOOKOUT  MOUNTAIN   AND    THE    TENNESSEE. 


53 


><;"•> 


ect!  What  is  there  about  it,  or  of  it,  or  in  it,  that  men  shou'd  come  long  dis- 
tances to  see  it,  and  risk  their  necks  by  climbing  it?"  These  ejaculations  were  ut- 
tered half  aloud,  and  the  mountain-loving  artist,  overhearing  them,  quickly  uttered  his  in- 
srinctive  remonstrance.  "  Wait,"  he  wisely  suggested  to  his  companion's  impatience,  "  until 
the  tain  ceases.     Sunshine  will  change  your  mood  and  your  conclusions." 

^There  was  nothing,  indeed,  to  do  but  wait,  although  Chattanooga  is  dreary  enough 
in  a  rain-storm.  The  town  was  denuded  during  the  war  of  all  its  trees,  a  large  part  of 
it  was  burned,  and  once  it  was  buried  up  to  its  second-story  windows  under  the  Ten- 
nessee. These  things  have  not  served  to  beautify  it.  The  streets  arc  unpaved,  and  ap- 
parently unworked;  in  wet  weather  they  are  of  unspeakable  mud,  in  dry  weather  of  in- 
describable dust,  and  at  all  times  they  present  a  surface  of  ridges  and  chasms  that  make 
travelling  upon  them  a  penance  which  one's  bones  long  feelingly  remember.  The  princi- 
pal business-avenue  consists  of  little  better  than  rudely -constructed  barracks ;  so,  what  with 
the  bare  and  rude  streets  and  the  roughly-constructed  buildings,  the  place  seems  more 
like  an  extemporized  mining-town  of  the  far  West  than  an  old  settlement  of  the  East. 
But  there  is  exhibittd  all  the  activity  of  a  new  colony  ;  better  buildings  are  rapidly  going 
up ;  a  fine  new  hotel  has  been  opened ;  there  are  signs  everywhere  of  prosperity  and 
growth ;  and  hence,  if  the  Tennessee  can  only  be  persuaded  to  respect  its  legitimate 
boundaries,  we  shall  find  the  town  in  good  time  a  prosperous  and  agreeable  place.  It  is 
a  very  active  town.  There  are  several  railroads,  and  many  trains  come  and  go  ;  it  is  an 
extensive  cattle-depot,  and  droves  of  horses  and  bovines  ceaselessly  fill  the  streets.  The 
citizens  are  rather  proud  of  their  big  new  hotel,  and  they  look  upon  Lookout  Mountain 
with  feelings  of  friendly  interest  ;  but  I  do  not  know  that  any  thing  delights  them  so 
much  as  reminiscences  of  the  big  Hood  that  occurred  about  five  years  ago.  They  will 
shov?  you  the  high-water  marks  with  unsuppressed  enthusiasm,  and  dwell  upon  the  ap- 
pearance of  steamboats  in  their  main  street  with  an  exhibition  of  pride  that  is  very 
touchinu. 

Win  11  the  sun  came  out  on  the  third  day  we  set  forth  with  all  expedition  for  the 
mouojtiiin.  During  the  regular  season,  which  we  had  anticipated  by  a  few  weeks,  coaches 
run  at  fixed   intervals  to   the    mountain-top,  where    two    hotels   give   entertainment   to  all 

leis, 

we  were  to  remain  on  the  mountain  several  days,  our  carriage  was  packed  with 
tllects,  and  we  sallied  forth  with  eagerness  to  scenes  which  the  war  brought  into 
ich  j^oniinent  notice.  After  a  drive  of  about  two  miles,  we  began  the  long,  sloping 
ascent:()f  tiie  mountain-road,  and  half  an  hour  later  found  us  midway  up  the  "  formless 
humpC  vcrv  much  disposed,  indeed,  to  beg  the  mountain's  pardon  for  our  depreciating 
cridami  at  ilie  hotel-window;  for  now  forms  of  the  most  varied  and  striking  character 
MVeali^  themselves  in  the  cliffs  and  ravines  of  the  mountain,  ami  already  superb  pros- 
pect*.^ the  lur  valley  and  the  winding  Tennessee  showed  through  glimpses  of  the  trees 


pf' 


■i^HHMI 


■\ 


LOOKOUT     MOUNTAIN  —VIEW      iliOM     THE      ■HUINT.' 


LOOKOUT   MOUNTAIN   AND    THE    TENNESSEE. 


55 


'^.^-:s:^ 


-4  :, 


•^^^  ^^f' 


Abpve  us  hunjr  bcctlini^  clilTs,  wliich  Mr.  T'cnn's  pencil  vividly  delineates  in  one  of  the 
r  illustrations,  while  below  us  were  precipitous  reaches,  here  and  there  picturesquely 
ed  hy  gigantic  bowlders.  I  do  not  know  but  tiie  best  charm  of  mountain-views  is 
ese  half  glimpses  that  you  catch  in  the  ascent.  If  they  do  not  possess  the  sublimity 
e  scene  from  the  supreme  altitude,  they  gain  many  beauties  in  the  nicer  articulation 
of  the  different  objects  below.  The  picturesque,  moreover,  is  a  little  coy,  and  reveals  it- 
self more  pleasingly  in  the  iialf  glances  through  broken  vistas  than  at  the  open  stare. 
Our  journey  up  the  sides  of  Lookout  was  continually  arrested  by  the  charming  pictures 
of  this  character  that  the  winding  road  brought  to  view. 

The  first  sensation  of  the  prospect  from  the   top   is    simply  of  immensity.     The   eye 

sweeps  the  vast  spaces  that  are  bounded   only  by  the  haze  of  distance.      On   three   sides 

no  obstacles  intervene  between  your  altitude    and    the    utmost   reaches  of  the  vision.     To 

your  rigiit,  stretch  successive  ranges  of  iiills   and   mountains   that   s-.em  to  rise  one  above 

another  until  they  dispute  form  and  character  with  the  clouds.     Your  vision  extends,  you 

are  told,  to  the  great    Smoky  Mountains   of   North  Carolina,  which   lie  nearly  a  hundred 

miles  distant.     The  whole  vast  space    between  is  packed  with    huge    undulations    of  hills, 

which  seem  to  come  rolling  in  upon  your  mountain-shore,  like  giant  waves.     It  is,  indeed, 

a  very  sea  of  space,  and  your  stand  of  rocks  and  cliffs  juts  up  in  strange  isolation  amid 

the  grav  waste  of  blending  hills.     Directly  before  you  the  undulations  are  repeated,  fading 

away  in  the  fiir  distance  where  the  Cumberland  Iiills  of  Kentucky  hide  their  tops  in  the 

mists  of  the  horl/on.     Your  eye  covers  the  entire  width  of  Tennessee  ;  it  reaches,  so  it  is 

said,  even    to  \'irginia,  and    embraces  within    its    scope    territory  of  seven    States.     These 

are  Georgia,  Tennessee,  Alabama,  Virginia,  Kentucky,  Nortii  and  South  Carolina.     If  the 

v'WK  does  in  truth  extend  to  Virginia,  then    it    reaches  to  a  point  fully  one  hundred  and 

fifty  miles  distant.     To  your  left,  the  picture  gains  a  delicious    charm  in  the  windings  of 

the  .Tennessee,  which  makes  a  sharp  curve  directly  at  the  base  of  the  mountain,  and  then 

is  away,  soon    disappearing    among    its    hills,  but    at    intervals    rea|ii)earing,  glancing 

and  silvery  in  the  distance,  like  great  mirrors  let  into  the  landscape. 

,0()kout  Mountain  presents  an  abrupt   jirecipice  to  the  plain  it  overlooks.      Its  cliffs 

r  luilf-way  down  the  mountain,  splendid    palisades,  or  escarpments,  the   character  of 

can    be  nltogether  better  conceived   by  the  study  of  Mr.  Fenn's  drawings  than  by 

ost  skilful  description.     The  mountain-top  is  almost  a  plateau,  and  one  may  wander 

at  Mi  CISC  for  hours  along   the  rugged,  iiroken,  seamed,  tree-crowned  cliffs,  surveying  the 

sup<f)  panorama  stretched  out  before  him  in  all  its  different    aspects.    The   favorite   post 

of  IiIbw  is  called  the  "  Point,"  a  plateau   on   a   projecting  angle  of  the  cliff,  i)eing  almost 

diftajy    ihove  the  Tennessee,  and  commanding  to  the   right    and    left   a    breadth  of  view 

J'!''"^A"'    '^'^^''  ^'t""tion  enjoys.      Beneath  the  cliff,  the  rock-strewed   slope   that  stretches 

to  ^il  valley  was  once  heavily  wooded,  but  during  the  war   the  Confederates   denuded   it 

^rM  trees,  ni  order  that  the  approaches  to  their  encampment  might  be  watched.     It  was 


p  ,1 


% 


,,JS&, 


56 


riC  TURESQ UE    A M ERICA. 


under  cover  of  a  dense  mist  that  Hooker's  men  on  the  day  of  the  famous  battle  skirted 
this  open  space  and  reached  the  cover  of  the  rocks  beyond,  up  which  they  were  to  climh. 
The  "battle  above  the  clouds"  is  j)icturesque  and  poetical  in  the  vivid  descriptions  of  our 
historians,  but  the  survey  of  the  ground  from  the  grand  escarpments  of  the  mountain 
thrills  one  with  admiration.  It  is  not  surprising  that  Bragg  believed  himself  secure  in  his 
rocky  eyrie,  and  the  wonder  must  always  remain  that  these  towering  palisades  did  not 
prove  an  impregnable  barrier  to  the  approach  of  his  enemy. 

On  the  summit  of  Lookout  Mountain  the  northwest  comer  of  Georgia  and  the 
northeast  extremity  of  Alabama  meet  on  the  southern  boundary  of  Tennessee.  The 
mountain  lifts  abruptly  from  the  valley  to  a  height  of  fifteen  hundred  feet.  It  is  the 
summit  overhanging  the  plain  of  Chattanooga  that  is  usually  connected  in  the  popuhir 
imagination  with  the  title  of  Lookout,  but  the  mountain  really  extends  for  fifty  miles  in 
a  southwesterly  direction  into  Alabama.  The  surface  of  the  mountain  is  well  wooded,  it 
has  numerous  springs,  and  is  susceptible  of  cultivation.  In  time,  no  doubt,  extensive 
farms  will  occupy  the  space  now  filled  by  the  wilderness.  There  is  a  small  settlement  on 
the  crest  of  the  mountain,  consisting  of  two  summer  hotels,  several  cottages  and  cabins, 
and  a  college.  It  is  a  grand  place  for  study,  and  the  young  people  of  this  sky-aspirinj( 
academy  have  certainly  superb  stimulants  in  the  exhilarating  air  and  glorious  scenes  of 
their  mountain  alma  mater. 

Only  one  of  the  public-iiouses  was  open  at  the  time  of  our  early  visit  to  the  moun- 
tain, but  already  the  daily  throng  of  visitors  was  large.  People  only  came,  however, 
for  an  hour  or  two ;  the  regular  summer  crowds,  who  during  the  hot  season  sojourn 
among  these  lofty  rocks,  had  given  as  yet  no  signs  of  their  coming,  and  the  principal 
hotel  was  closed  and  silent.  The  Summit  House,  however,  proved  a  pleasant  little  box. 
We  were  the  only  guests,  and  hence  had  choice  of  rooms,  and  first  place  in  our  hind- 
lord's  affections.  The  sunshine  that  seduced  us  from  Chattanooga  only  kept  our  com|)anv 
until  we  reached  the  mountain-top,  when  clouds  began  to  obscure  the  scene,  and  winds  to 
chill  the  air.  Altiiough  nearly  three  days  on  the  mountain,  Mr.  Fenn  got  his  sketches 
with  difficulty.  There  were  glimpses  of  sunshine,  and  the  clouds  would  lift  and  give  us 
superb  vanishing  pictures  of  the  valley  and  distant  hills,  touched  in  spots  with  sunlight; 
but  the  cold  winds  and  the  ever-recurring  showers  made  sketching  out-of-doors  cold  and 
dismal  work.  At  the  hotel  we  kept  warm  by  means  of  blazing  piles  of  logs,  which  a 
little  negro  lass  of  about  twelve  years  kept  continually  piling  upon  the  waiting  andirons, 
To  this  diminutive  daughter  of  Ethiopia  we  owe  a  world  of  thanks.  The  little  creature 
was  full  of  work,  zeal,  and  affection  ;  her  big  eyes  had  a  melancholy  contemplation,  and 
her  manner  exhibited  a  motherly  solicitude  that  was  exceedingly  amusing.  We  chris- 
tened her  after  the  immortal  Marchioness  of  Dickens.  She  seemed  maid  and  master  of 
all  work.  She  waited  on  table,  polished  the  boots,  made  the  fires,  helped  cook  the  meals, 
as  her  regular  duties,  and  then  seemed   never   tired   of  watching   over   our  comforts.    At 


CHATTANOOGA     AND    THE     TENNESSEE     FROM     LOOKOUT     MOUNTAIN 


mtmss 


■nra 


58 


PICTURESQUE    AMERICA. 


the  first  show  of  the  sun  in  the  morning,  she  entered  our  rooms  and  built  up  fires  for 
us,  and  the  last  thing  at  night  was  to  heap  the  andirons  with  wood.  The  wind  pierced 
through  tile  thin  timber  frame  of  tlie  house  as  if  it  had  been  pasteboard,  and  rendered 
fires  at  all  hours  necessary.  The  i>lack  Marchioness's  especial  ambition  was  to  polish  our 
boots.  She  promised  each  day  they  should  be  more  brilliantly  executed  the  next.  "  Won't 
have  no  more  boots  to  black,"  was  her  mournful  comment  when  we  came  to  dej)art 
"  Wliy  not.?"  was  our  reply;  "there  will  l)e  plenty  of  hoots  to  black — in  fact,  too  nianv, 
we  should  say."  "  No,"  was  the  inconsolable  rejoinder,  "people  only  come  here  to  dinner, 
Nol)odv  stays  here  al!  night.  There  will  be  no  more  boots  to  black,"  and  with  this  la- 
ment  ujion  her  lips  we  left  her.  The  spirits  of  Day  &.  Martin  will  doubtless  discover 
this  polishing  zeal,  and  shower  benedictions  upon  her. 

The  majority  of  visitors  go  to  Lookout  only  for  an  hour  or  two,  and  hence  miss 
some  very  striking  characteristics  of  tlie  mountain.  There  are  a  lake  and  a  cascade  of 
uncommon  beauty  about  six  miles  distant  from  the  "  Point,"  and  a  singular  grouping  of 
rocks,  known  bv  ihe  name  of  "flock  Citv."  The  City  of  Rt)cks  would  be  a  somewhat 
more  correct  appellation.  This  is  a  very  odd  phenomenon.  Vast  rocks  of  the  most 
varied  and  fantastic  shape  are  ar  nged  into  avenues  almost  as  regular  as  the  streets  of 
a  city.  Names,  indeed,  have  been  given  to  some  of  the  main  thoroughfares,  through 
which  one  mav  travel  between  great  masses  of  tiie  odilest  architecture  conceivable 
Sometimes  these  structures  are  nearly  square,  and  front  the  avenue  with  all  the  imposinji  j 
dignity  of  a  Fifth  -  Avenue  mansii)ii.  But  others  exhibit  a  perfect  license  in  capri 
cious  vaiirtv  of  form.  Some  are  scooped  out  at  the  lower  j)ortion,  and  overhang  their  j 
base  in  ponderous  balconies  of  rock.  Others  stand  balanced  on  small  pivots  of  rock,  ami  I 
ap|)arentlv  defv  tin-  law  of  gravitatitm.  I  know  of  nothing  more  (juaint  and  slranut 
than  the  aspects  of  this  mock  city — silent,  shadowy,  deserted,  and  suggestive,  some  \v,iv 
of  a  trangc  life  once  within  "ts  itorders.  One  ex|)ecls  to  hear  a  foot-fall,  to  sec  the  pon- 
derous rocks  open  and  give  forth  life,  and  awaken  the  sleej)  that  hushes  the  dumii  liti 
in  a  repose  so  profound. 

Lookout   Mountain  is  remarkable  generally  for  its  quaint    and    fantastic  rocks.     Neat] 
the    "Point"  aie    two   eccentric   speciinens   that   are   i)ointed   out    to    every  visitor.     The 
"Devil's  Pulpit"    did  (me  ever  visit  a  mountain  that  had  not   borrowed   Satanic  phriseol' 
ogy  for  characterizing  some  of   its  features? — the  "  Dc'vil's   Pulpil,"  almost   at    the  eMitim 
end  of  the  "Point,"  consists  of  a    immlur  of   large   slabs  of   rocks,  piled  in   strange  iiirnil 
one  upon  the  other,  and  apparently  in    inmiediale   danger  of  toppling  over.      The   naih 
will  readil\    discover  this  (|ueer  pile  if   he  consults  Mr.   Fenn's  drawing  sliowing  the  vinv 
fioin  the  "Point,"      Another  (mIcI    mass   is   called  "Saddle    Rock,"  from    a    fancied   riMnvj 
blance    to    a    saddle       It    crmsists    of  a    great    pile    of   limisione,  that   has  crumbltd  .iiuS 
broken  awav  in  small  particles,  like  scales,  until  in  texture  one  may  discovir  a  likeness  to  | 
an  oyster-Hhell,  and  in  form  something  of  the  contour  of  a  saddle-tree.     Willi  queer  ntk- 


LOOKOUT   MOUNTAIN   AND    THE    TENNESSEE. 


59 


Ibrnis  Lookout  Mountain  is  certainly  abundantly  supplic'J.  It  is  supposed  that  these 
rocks  jutting  so  far  above  the  level  of  the  Palisades,  are  n^mains  of  a  higher  escarpment, 
\vliicli,  (luring  uncounted  centuries,  has  gradually  worn  away. 

l  lie   lake   and   cascade   to  which  I    have   referred    are   known    as  "  Lulu  Lake "   and 
"  Lulu  Falls,"  Lulu  being  a  conniption  of  the  Indian    name  of  Tullulali.     The  cascade  is 


Kock   Cily,    IxMknut    Mountain. 


loiu'  III   uncoinmnti  beauty.     It  is  nearly  as  high  as  Niagara,  and  far  more  picturesque  in 

Jts  setting.    This  lake  and  cascade  can  <>nlv  l»e  naclud  on   fnoi  or  Imrsibaek  ;  no  vehicle 

Kan  ir.ivciM'  ilu-  mtv  rough  road  which    leads  to  them.      \\\.\\    their   singular   beauty,  and 

llu'  M range,  quaint  features  of  the  City  of  U«>cks,  would  retvaid    niusual  e.xertitms  «)n  the 

11   nf  the  visitor.      Lookout    Mountain,  indeed,  is  very  imperfectly  seen   b\    those  who 


6o 


PICTURESQUE    AMERICA. 


make  a  hurried  jaunt  to  its  Palisades,  glance  at  the  prospect  so  superbly  spread  out  before 
them,  and  then  hurry  back  again.  There  is  no  mountain  and  no  landscape  that  docs  not 
require  its  acquaintance  to  be  cultivated  somewhat,  just  as  we  must  meet  our  friends  in 
man\-  intercourses  before  we  can  come  to  full\'  understand  them.  A  mountain  no  iiinn 
carries  its  beauty  within  the  ready  ken  of  everybody  than  a  wise  man  "  wears  his  heart  un 
his  sleeve  for  daws  to  peck  at."  The  supreme  beauty,  the  varied  features,  the  changing  I 
aspects,  the  subtle  sentiments  of  the  "  rock-ribbed  hills,"  enter  the  soul  by  many  >1ook 
and  only  after  a  complete  surrender  on  our  part  to  their  iutiucnces.  One  can  comfort 
ably  house  himself  on  the  great  plateau  of  Lookout,  and  there  give  many  days  to  wan 
dering  along  its  Palisades,  or  in  search  of  the  thousand  picturesque  cliarms  that  pertain  I 
to    its  wooded   and   rocky  retreats. 

Our  views  on  the  Tennessee    are    only  for    a    dozen    miles  of   its  eight    hundred,  but  i 


t.^-m^- 


Rock-l'"orius   on    l.t><>k"i,i    Mnimcain. 


at  a  point  where  it  outdoes  the  Hudson    in    the    loftiness  of   its   banks,  and  gives  iis  inj 
best  |)ietures(iue  features. 

Tlic  Tennessee  comes  sweeping  down   upon   Lookout    Mountain    as    if  it   confnlciiili 
e\p(    !(•(!    to    break    tliiough    this   rocky  barrier   i;n(l    reach    the   flulf    bv  ;in    easv  rmiN] 
tlinmj^h    the    pleasant    lowlands    of   Alabama.      The    (lood  reaches   the   b.isc  of    Lookmi; 
tall    abutments,   and,  fuuiing   them    impenetrable,   sweeps   abruj)tlv    to    the    right,  bniknii:! 
through  the  Imnicr  of  hills  that    lie  in   its  rou'-se,  and,  as  if  with  a  new  purpose  at  hrait, 
aiiandons  its  liopc  of  ilu'   (aiif,  to  eventually  reach    it,  however,  after  a  double   mim.i^f 
with  the  Ohio  and  the   Mississippi. 

'Ihe  Tenne^^e    is  formed    bv  the    union    of  the  Clinch    and    the    Ffolston   Rivr)\ 
Kingston,  and,  together    with    its    principal    afllneni,  attains   a    length    of   cltvcn    Inn! 
miles.     .Steamers   navigate  dilTerent    poilions,  but   a  succession    nl    -hallows  and    in  li^  rj 
.MabMina,  known  as  "  Muscle  Shoals,"  bar  vesseK  from   its  lower  waters  to  ilu-  tippi 


LOOKOUT   MOUMTAIN-   AND    THE    TENNESSEE. 


6i 


lb(.-l<)\v  Chattanooga  exist  serious  obstacles  to  navigation,  known  as  the  "  Suck  "  and   the 

I"  Pot." 

The  "  Pot "  lies  some  twenty  miles  belo\.  Chattanooga ;  it  is  a  maelstrom  which,  at 
certain  depths  of  water,  is  wild  and  beautiful.  Tiie  swift  current  is  impinged  sharply 
jpon  a  iiigh  bluff,  and  turns  to  escape,  at  an  angle  so  acute,  that  a  perfect  whirl  of  wa- 


Kucks,   Kuck   City. 

fff-r     cnsufv      Vast  trees    have  l)een  seen   caught    in    its    fierce   tuinioil  and  swept   out    of 

I    iind,  in    the   lime  of  freshets,  houses,   carried   o(T  by  the  Hood,  have    plunged    into 

L'lilf,   to   reappear    none   knew    where  or  how.      The  "  Suck "  is   thirteen    miles    from 

rh;iil  iniMjjra.     Thi-J   phciiomt-non    is  caused    by   a    fierce   little     mountain-current,   called 

<  reek,"  which,  in  times  r»f  lijgh  water,  brings  from  its  rocky  fastnesses  such  masses 

|<tf  di'hrh  that    the    rivcr4ied    is  strewed  with    bowlders,  and   a    bar   formed,  which    com- 


i»r" 


62 


PICTURESQUE    AMERICA. 


II 


presses  the  channel  into   a   narrow,  swift,  and   dangerous   current.      Thirty  years   ago  the 
Government  erected  a  wall  some  forty  feet  distant  from  the  left  bank,  and,  through  the 
narrow  passage  thus  formed,  boats  ascending  the  river  arc  warped  up  by  means  of  a  wind- 
lass on  the  shore.       Under  the  intelligent  direction  of   Lieutenant  Adams,  of  the  United 
States  Army,  Government  is  now  endeavoring  to  remove  'lie  obstructions  and  widen  the 
channel,  which  at  this  point  is  narrowed  from  the  average  of  six  hundred  feet  to  two  hun- 1 
dred  and  fifty ;   and  hence    the    novel   and    picturesque  sight   of  a  steamer  struggling  up 
against   an  adverse   current    by  means   of  a  windlass   on   the   bank,   with  the  songs   and  j 
shouts  of  the  laboring  deck-hands,  will  soon  be,  even  \l  it  is  not  now,  a  thing  of  the  past 
'    To  visit   this   famous  "  Suck,"  and   get  a  sketch    or  two  of  the   shore,  was  the  pur- 1 
pose  of  our  journey    along   the    Tennessee.      The   three  days    of  wintry    airs  on    Look- 
out Mountain  had   made   out-of-door  sketching  chilling  work,  but  now  a  soft  and  balmvj 
April  day  invited   us  upon  thi*  jaunt;  so  Mr.  Fenn  packed  his  sketching-traps;  a  vehicle 
stout  in  spring,  and  equal  to  the  vicissitudes  of  a   rough  and  rocky  road,  was  procured, 
and  we  sallied  forth. 

There  was  once   a    fine   bridge  across  the  Tennessee,   at   Chattanooga,   but   it   fell  j  I 
victim  to  a  ureal    liodd   a   iew  years  ago.     TIic  Uhattanoogians  have   been  so  busy  since 
erecting   new  warehouses,  new    railroad-depots,  and   new    hotels,  that   they   have   forgotten 
the   [)iers  of  masonry  in  the  river-bed,  which    in  grim    solitude    seem   to   utter  a  protect 
again.st  their  neglect.      Not   that    we,  searchers    for   the    picturesque,  would    have   luui  ii 
otherwise     lor   a    bridge    would     have    deprived     Mr.   Fenn's   sketch-book  of  one   of  the] 
(juaintest  femes    in    the    country.      The    illustration,  which    the    reader  will   readily  f 
proliablv    needs  a  little  explanation,  which   let   .ne  endeavor  to  give.      It  is   a  rope-ftm  j 
having   for  motive-power  the    rivei -current,    which   it    masters  for  its  purpose    by   a  venj 
simple   application  of  a    law  in   physics.     A  long   rope  from  the  ferry-boat,  supported  all 
regular  intervals  on   poles   resting  on    small    lliit-ln)ats,   is   attached,   several   hundred  ftdj 
up-stream,  to  an   island   in   mid-water.     The  boat   thus  secured  is  pushed  from   the  shore 
when   it   begins  to  catch  the   force  of  the  current,  a  greater  surface  of  pressure  being  * 
cured    by  a  board,  like  the  centre-board  of  a   sail-boat,  which  is  dropped  down  deep  intt 
the  water  on  the  upper  side.     The  current  sweeping  against  the  boat  would  carry  it  down-j 
streain,  but    the    attached  ro])e  retains  the    vessel   in   i)laee,   and   we  have,   as   a  result  i\ 
the   sum  of  the    forces,    the    bo;it    swifllv    propelled    on    the    arc   of  a   circle   across  iIkI 
stream.     Thus,  by  a  very  simple   eonlrivance,  a    motor   is   secured  which   recpiires   iKitheil 
fuel  nor  canvas,  which  is  uniformly  available,  and  which  is  obtained  entirely  withoul  cosi 
/\  very  odd  ciTcct   in    the   sc;;no  is  the  Meet  of  small   tl.it-boats,  upholding  the  long  and 
heavy  rope,  which   start   in  (ouipinv  with  the  large  vessel  in  the  order  and  with   the  iirf-| 
cisioii  of  a   column  of  cavalr\.     Moving  in  obedience         \:>  I'Jsi'^'o   sign   or    force,  ihir 
impress   tme    as     being    the     intt!!tgcnt    directon'    <  t     .!.f    m'A'^.  1.1  >     and    are   walihcdl 
when  first  seen,  with  lively  interest. 


LOOKOUT   MOUNTAIN  AND    THE    TENNESSEE. 


63 


The  method  adopted  at  this  ferry  is  occasionally  found  in  the  South,  but,  ordinarily, 
^errv-boats  are  carried  from  one  side  of  the  stream  to  the  other  by  means  of  a  suspended 
rope  from  shore  to  shore.  The  Chattanooga  ferry  is  very  picturesque,  apart  from  the 
lethod  of  progression.  In  busy  times  a  sort  of  tender  accompanies  the  larger  boat, 
and  upon  this  our  carriage,  with  some  difuculty,  was  driven.  Boat  and  tender  were  rude 
\xi  construction,  old,  and  dilapidated.  The  main  vessel  had  a  small  enclosure,  of  a  hen- 
cooj)  suggestiveness,  which  was  called  a  cabin,  and  wliich,  at  a  pinch,  might  give  shelter 
jto  three  or  four  people.  The  groups  upon  its  decks  were  striking.  There  were  sports- 
len  with  a  great  following  of  dogs,  horsemen  with  their  Texan  saddles  and  wide  som- 
hrcros,  vehicles,  and  groups  of  cattle,  all  mingled  with  the  most  happy  contrast  of  color 
and  form.  On  the  opposite  shore,  as  we  drew  near,  were  visible  great  numbers  of  waiting 
Norsemen  and  cattle,  giving  evidence  of  the  active  business  of  the  ferry,  and  emphasizing 
[the  wonder  that  the  bridge  has  not  been  restored. 

[f  any  mortal  hereafter  essays  a  visit  to  the  "Suck,"  let  him  go  by  saddle.  If  he 
ventures  by  vehicle,  sore,  very  sore  indeed,  will  be  his  trials.  Our  road,  one  of  the  most 
[)ictures(|ue  and  charming  we  had  ever  travelled,  certainly  outdid  in  roughness  of  surface 
Vi  previous  experience.  It  led  through  superb  woods ;  under  high  banks ;  over  rocks 
^nil  l)o\vlders;  into  swift-running  streams;  up  steep  hills,  and  down  declivities.  We  were 
aitclicd  into  the  bottom  of  the  wagon  one  momcm,  tossed  against  the  top  at  another, 
[low  |)r("ci|)itated  affectionately  into  each  other's  arms,  now  hurled  discordantly  apart 
Igainst  the  wagon-sides — all  of  which,  however,  while  trying  to  one's  bones,  added  to  the 
elisli  of  the  journey,  or  rather,  it  may  be  sa'^^T  to  say,  ♦o  the  relish  of  our  recollections 
!.f  it. 

Tlie  Tennessee,  as  already  said,  runs  between  high  hills,  mountains  even,  being  the 
)ntinuation  of  the  Cumberland  range.  Spreads  of  table-land,  with  intervening  dips 
the  forest,  mark  one  side  of  the  river,  while  on  the  other  the  rocky  hills  rise  abruptly 
Din  tlie  water's  edge.  The  river  is  ve.y  winding,  and  the  road  sometimes  runs  along  its 
Burse,  sometimes  loses  sight  of  its  silvery  waters  altogether;  but  the  appearing  and 
ippcaring  surface  of  the  stream  alTords  contmual  changes  to  the  picture.  Hetwcen  the 
lulf  and  the  river  are  narrow  strips  of  arable  bottom-land;  and  these,  which  sometimes 
re  (inly  narrow  ribbons  bordering  the  stream,  and  at  others  wide  fields,  are  very  rich*  in 
)il  .111(1  carefully  cultivated.  Hut  the  owners,  almost  without  exception,  live  in  rudi-  log- 
liiiiis.  We  saw  but  two  or  three  houses  above  this  condition.  The  occupants  arc 
Jnuiiinis  negroes,  but  the  majority  are  whites,  who,  however,  as  a  rule,  are  not  of  the 
ki'-s  known  as  "poor  whites."  The  cabins  are  rude,  the  gnnuuls  limited,  the  means 
Caiiu,  but  the  residents  arc  a  prouvl,  intelligent  set,  who  should  be  classed  as  hunters 
woodsmen  rather  than  as  husbandmen.  Their  deligh:  is  the  woculs  and  the  moun- 
liii  ,  and  they  almost  live  on  hoi-seback.  Their  needs  are  a  gun,  a  dog.  a  horse,  a 
^11  lui,  a  wife,  and  a  cow — and  pretty  much  in  the  order  enumerated.      Thev  arc   semi- 


n~ 


LOOKOUT  MOUNTAIN   AND    THE    TENNESSEE. 


65 


I 


7.1  ■ 


^- 


)lishcd 


energy 


portsnu'n, 

?lio    dtlijrlit   in   all 
but  exhibit  very  litt 

[>|)in^f  the  resources  of  the  country.  It 
vouUl  l>e  a  mistake  to  atxiuse  them  of 
lack  of  intelliKencf.  \V\'  met  many 
co|)k'  on  the  road  that  tiv  whose  faces 
rerc  relined  and  handsome.  With  their 
|()j)in<if  sombreros,  their  Riay  sliavvis  or 
rmy  coats,  their  picturesque  saddles,  and 
kir  jicneral  air  of  graceful  dilajjidation, 

bey  looked  like  so  many  brigands.  We  noted  specially  t\M'  >ir  tlinc;  and  one  who 
rove  ,1  hird  of  cattle  along  the  road  possessed  a  face  that  lor  iniLllectual  refniement 
lould  lie  difficult  to  match. 

At  noon  we  reached  our  tlestination,  and  were  shown  a  somewhat  picluresquely- 
lituattd  log-cabin,  where  we  were  assured  dinner  could  be  obtained.  Our  ap[»nliensions 
lav  lir  imagined.  But  as  soon  as  we  drove  up  to  it,  and  noticed  the  long  array  of 
lislutl  tins  and  glistening  buckets,  we  felt  assured  that  at  least  cleanliness  would  ehar- 
ctcri/c  tiur  repast.  A  very  neat,  i)leasant-faced  woman  came  forward  at  our  appearance, 
ml  wiih  (|uier  self-possession  promised  us  a  rui.d  meal  of  ham,  eggs,  and  hot  rolls. 
riie  house  was  neat  as  a  pin,  and  the  woman  relined  and  intelligent.  Bui  it  contained 
nc  room  only,  and  this  without  a  window.  .\ir  and  light  penOwioA  the  apertures 
ttwicn  every  layer  of  logs;  and   in   winter,  when   i!..      ,rh  the  moun«HtH?*flv  hercv  wirwb 

>ust  Miinetimes  sweep,  the  comfort  of  this  cottage  b\  the  river  mav  he  estimatcii.     Rude 

v 


66 


PICTURESQUE    AMERICA. 


as  it  was,  the  situation  in  summer-time  was  charming,  which  the  reader  may  discover  bv 
consulting  the  initial  drawing  by  Mr.  Fenn. 

At  this  place  we  desired  to  cross  the  river,  but  no  means  could  be  obtained  to  do 
so.  No  boats  were  to  be  found  along  the  shore  excepting  the  primitive  "  dug-out,"  which 
every  one  said  would  not  be  safe  on  account  of  the  swiftness  and  turbulence  of  the 
current.  This  was  a  little  exasperating.  The  rudest  savage  tribes  of  the  Pacific  build 
canoes  that  can  sail  far  out  at  sea  in  high  winds  and  rough  water,  but  the  boats  of  the  j 
Tennessee  can  only  be  employed  in  the  smoothest  of  water.     They  cannot  be  trusted  in , 


Steamer  on   the  Trnnessec   warpcil   through   the   "Suck.' 


a  ripple  ;   and  yet  the  Very  simple  contrivance   of  an   outrigger,  such  as  used  by  the  Pi- 
cific    natives,  would  rentier  fliem    safe  even  in    a    high  sea.      The    skill    of  our  Teniu's««j 
men  is  etpial,  no  doubt,  to  many  emergencies  of  the  mountains,  but  their  resources  for  liitl 
water   are    certainly  very  limited.     .'\s  we  could   not    get   on   the  other  side  of  the   nver 
we  startH    in   search    of  the    most  eligible  points  on   this  side.      In   order  to    reach  thtj 
shftn-,  w(     hail  a  wilii  and   picturesque  walk,  reaching    in    due   time   the   romantic   strcait 
which    ignf)biv  rests   under  the  title  of  "  Suck  Creek."      This    stream     is    a  mountain-tor- j 
rent;   it    cnmf<;    tumbling   tiimugli    rocky  crevices  above  with    all  the  flash   and  s|)lcmlo!J 
of  tilt    '  waters   of   Lodore,"  and    pours  with    turbulent   energy  into    the   Tennessee.    Ill 


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67 


freshets  it  comes  from  its  mountain-home  with  tremendous  volume  and  force,  burying 
[far  under  water  even  the  high  rocks  delineated  in  the  illustration,  and  sweeping  into  the 
river  a  score  or  so  of  smaller  impediments.  We  crossed  this  torrent  on  a  round  and 
very  small  tree-trunk,  and,  not  having  the  skill  of  the  natives,  ignominiously  crept  along 
[it  on  our  hands  and  knees.  But,  shortly  after,  seeing  one  to  the  manner  born,  with  a 
I  pack  on  his  back,  and  a  load  in  each  hand,  quietly  and  confidently  walk  the  shaking 
land  unsteadfast  bridge,  we  on  our  return  plucked  up  courage  and  performed  the  feat  in 
san  upright  position.  The  picture  here  was  very  charming — mountains  closing  us  in  all 
iaround,  a  canopy  of  noble  forest-trees,  and  the  music  of  the  mountain-stream  as  it 
fplunged  over  its  bed  of  rocks. 

Securing  the  sketches  necessary,  we  wended  our  way  back.     Under  easier  travelling, 
[the  drive  would  be  one  of  great  enjoyment.      It  was    interesting  to  note  the  pains   that 
[are  taken  along  the  shore  to  cultivate  every  portion  of   the  alluvial   bottom-land,  and  in 
[some  instances  we  saw  desperate  endeavors  to  plough  steep  acclivities  on  which  foothold 
icould  be  obtained  only  with  difficulty.     The  river  annually  overflows  these  bits  of  bottom- 
lland,  and   leaves  its   valuable   deposits.      But,  while    these    freshets  thus  enrich    the   land, 
■they  exact  tlieir  compensation   in  fevers ;   and  occasionally  the  river  disregards  all   limita- 
tions, and  seems  to  aim  at  the  very  submerging  of  the   mountains.     All  along  the  road 
[signs  were  evident  of  the  great  freshet  a  few  years   before;   the  high-water  marks  indicat- 
ling  a  rise  of  at  least  twenty  feet  above   the   line  of  the  road,  while   the  road  itself  was 
Itwcnty  or  thirty  above  the  river-bed.     Far  up,  in  crotches  of   trees,  could   be    seen  heaps 
)f  brushwood  and  ddbris  left  by  the  flood  as  it  withdrew.      The  people  were   compelled, 
[bn  that  occasion,  to  rapidly  withdraw  to  the  mountains,  many  of  them  returning  to  find 
ithcir  rude  but  valued  homesteads  swept  away  by  the  stream. 

If  the  morning  drive  was  charming,  the  return  was  enhanced    by  the    beauty  of  the 

Etiing  sun.     The  river,  the   trees,  the   hills,  gained  new    beauties   from   the   rays  of  the 

fcvcl  light ;  and  Lookout  Mountain,  whose  high  top  would  occasionally  reveal  itself,  tow- 

Icn  il  superbly,  purpling  in    the   evening   air.      Arriving  at  the  ferry  near  sunset,  we  e.xpe- 

rit"K<.'d  some  amusing  incidents  in  getting  across  the  stream.      It    is  one  feature   of  this 

ncthod  of  crossing  a  river  that  the  exact  place  of  landing  cannot  be  controlled,  the  rise 

31  fill  of  the  stream  varying  it   considerably.     On  our  return  we   found  the  nose  of  the 

bua;  tlirust  into  a  bank,  and  some  apprehensions  prevailing  as  to  how  the  waiting  cargo 

.1    Id  be  got  on  board.     Our  horses  were  unharnessed,  and  the  vehicle,  liy  the  strenuous 

^llcrl  nf  half  a  dozen  negroes,  lifted   on  lioard.      Then    the  horses,  our  own    and   several 

Jtiu  r>^.  without  much  difficulty,  jumped  the  space  ;  but   the  cattle   struggled,  and   backed, 

Ind    plunged,  with  the  most   incorrigible  perversity.      Some    charged   back,   and   tried   to 

esr  i|)c  up  the   hill  ;   others   plunged  into  the  water ;   and   one  fine   heifer  was  with   diffi- 

Cultv  saved  from  drowning.     At  last,  after  a  great  effort,  much  shouting,  and  woful  con- 

asion,  cattle,  horses,  carriage,  and  pedestrians,  were  successfully  shipped,  but   crowded  to- 


il 


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69 


'  aether  on  the  narrow  flat  with  promiscuous  disregard  of  class  or  species.  Immense  num- 
bers of  live-stock  consi  tiitly  traverse  the  road  along  the  Tennessee,  and  cross  by  the 
ferry  described  into  Chattan(joga.  All  day  long  the  cry  is,  "  Still  they  come ! "  Chatta- 
nuoo^a  is  an  extensive  cattle-market,  being  the  source  of  supply  for  a  large  portion  of 
the  cotton  States. 

The  Tennessee  road  is  of  historic  interest,  as  being  tiie  principal  avenue  during  the 
recent  war  by  which  supplies  were  sent  for  the  army  in  East  Tennessee.  Ceaseless 
trains  of  arni\  -wagons  wound  over  the  rough,  devious,  and  picturesque  road.  The  Con- 
federate sharp-shooters  hung  along  the  southern  bank,  and  it  was  not  uncommon  for  a 
sudden  fusillade  from  the  opposite  hills  to  send  death  and  consternation  among  the 
drauglit-animals  and  their  drivers. 

There  is  one  feature  of  the  Tennessee  at  Chattanooga  that  remains  to  be  described. 
Under  a  high  cliff  near  the  ferry-landing  may,  at  suitable  season,  be  seen  a  number  of 
flat-i)oats  unloading  their  cargoes  of  grain  or  other  produce  from  the  upper  waters  of 
the  Tennessee.  Here  is  cften  a  very  stirring  picture.  Crowds  of  vehicles  are  receiving 
grain;  there  is  the  bust  e  of  loading  and  unloading,  the  clamor  of  many  voices,  the 
noisy  vociferation  of  the  negro  drivers,  altogether  making  up  a  scene  of  great  animation. 
These  flat-boats  come  mainly  far  up  through  the  Clinch  or  the  Powell  River,  from  the 
northern  border  of  Tennessee,  and  the  southern  counties  of  Virgir  ia,  bringing  corn, 
wheat,   and   bacon.      A    striking    characteristic    of  their    construction   is    their    ponderous 

j  stern-oars,  which  often  reach  a  hundred  feet  in  length.  Floating  wit'f  the  current,  these 
oars  are  only  needed  as  rudders,  and  the  necessity  of  their  great  length  is  not  obvious. 
The  flat-boatmen  of  the  Tennessee  are  not,  like  those  of  the  Mi:,:;issippi,  notorious  as  "hard 
characters."    They  do  not  pursue  the  vocation  as  a  business,  but  are  mostly  farmers,  who, 

I  once  a  year  possibly,  bring  down  their  liarvests,  and  perhaps  those  of  their  neighbors,  to 
market.  We  found  them,  while  rustic  in  manner,  polite,  afft^ble,  and  intelligent.  One 
notalile  feature  of  this  busy  scene  was  the  apparently  friendly  manner  in  which  whites 
and   blacks   labored   together.      There  was  some  little    merry  chaffing  of  each  other,  and 

:  that  was  all.     As   each  boat    included    both    colors    in   the   composition    of  its   crew,  and 

I  among  the   teamsters   was   every    shade   of  hue,  there  was   abundant   ojiportunity  for  the 

Idispl.n  of  class  hatreds  if  they  had  existed. 

Tliere  would  seem  to  be  favorable  occasion  for  the  employment  of  capital  and  labor 

;  in  this  section  of  country.      Chattanooga   is    a   great    railroad    centre  ;   it  is   on  the   main 

jliiie  of  travel  between  the  North  and  the  South;   and  it  must,  in    the    nature   of  things, 

I  develop  into  an  important  place.  Capital  is  needed,  which,  with  fresh  energy  and  a  more 
varied  industry,  would  soon  give  a  marked  impulse  in  the  development   of  a  section  rich 

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RICHMOND,   SCENIC    AND    HISTORIC. 

WITH  ILLUSTRATIONS  BY  HARRY   FENN, 

T  N  one  of  the  drawing-rooms  of  the  Century  Club,  New  York,  there  may  be  seen 
-*■  a  painting  of  a  quaint  old  mani^ion  of  red  brick,  architecturally  of  the  reign  of 
Queen  Anne,  one  wing  of  which  stands  only  in  its  charred  timbers  and  blackened 
walls.  This  mansion  is  situated  on  the  left  bank  of  the  James  River,  and,  a  ciiituiy 
and  a  half  ago,  was  the  staiely  dwelling  of  the  "  Hon.  William  Byrd,  of  Westover, 
Esquire."  It  was  occupied  for  some  time  during  the  late  civil  war  by  the  Federal  troops 
(when  the  painting  in  possession  of  the  Century  Club  was  executed),  and  the  name, 
Westovcr,  will  be  freshly  recalled  in  connection  with  the  operations  in  Virginia  during  | 
that  struggle. 

There  were  three  William  Byrds,  of  Westovcr,  grandfather,  father,  and  son,  each  one  I 
of  whom   makes  a  figure  in  the  colonial  history  of  Virginia,  but  it  was  the  s<cond  cf 
the  name  and  title  to  whom  reference  is  made  above — a  man  of  many  shining  traits  of  | 
character  and  of  imposing  personal  appearance,  as  we  know  from  contemporary  record' 
and  from  the  full-length   portrait  of  him,  in   flowing  periw.g  and  lace  ruffles,  after  the! 
manner  of  Vandyck,  which  is  still  preserved  at   Lower  Braiidun.     He  had  an  immense 


i    . 


RICHMOND,   SCENIC  AND   HISTORIC. 


71 


m^Koth- 


re  may  be  seen 
f  the  reign  of 
and    blackened  I 
and,  a  cintury 
1,  of   Wesiover,  I 
Federal  troops 
and  the  name,] 
Virginia  during 

d  son,  each  one 
the  second  c!  1 
lining  traits  of  ] 
nporary  record' 
ufflcs,  after  the  I 
ad  an  immense 


jun 
be 


and  lived  profusely  on  its  revenue  for  many  years  in  England ;  he  was  the  friend, 

the  inscript'on  on  his  tomb  at  Westover  tells  us,  of  the  learned  and  illustrious  Charles 

le  Earl  of  Orrery,  and  was   elected  a  Fellow  of  the   Royal   Society ;  he  contributed 

nauer  to  the  Philosophical  Transactions,  and  he  left   behind   him  a  considerable  mass 

if  papers,  known  as  the  Westover  Manuscripts,  one  of  which   is  a  delightful  history  of 

dividing-line  between  Virginia  and  North  Carolina.     From  this  narrative  we  learn — a 

t  not  mentioned  in  his  epitaph — that  he  was  the  founder  of  Richmond. 

On  the  19th  day  of  September,  in  the  year  1733,  he  says,  on  their  return  from  the 

dary  expedition,  one  Peter  Jones  and  himself  laid  out  two  towns  or  cities,  one  on 

Appomattox  and  the  other  on  the  James   River,  twenty-two    miles   apart.     The  one 

lev  calhd  Petersburg,  from  the  baptismal  name  of  the  Jones  of  the  period,  and  not  in 

mpliment  to  Peter  the  Great;  and  the  other  they  called   Richmond,  from  a  resem- 

ilance,  real  or  fancied,  in  its  site  with  soft  hills,  and   far-stretching  meadows,  and  curving 

eep  of  river,  lost  to  view  at   last   behind  glimmering  woods,  to   the   beautiful   English 

wn  in  Surrey.     Whatever  hopes  they  may  have   indulged  of  the  future  greatness  of 

lese  Virijinian  towns,  hopes  as  yet  unfulfilled,  it  probably  did. not  occur  to  Colonel   the 

on.  William  Byrd  or  to   Peter  Jones,  his   companion,  that   around  these   sites  military 

igagenients  were  to  be  fought  as*memorable  as  Pultowa  or  Malplaquet,  and  that  Peters- 

rg  and  Richmond  would  become  as  famous  in  the   history  of  sieges  as   Saragossa  or 

Igradc. 

Colonel  Byrd  did  not  live  to  see  Richmond  attain  unto  any  considerable  size,  for  the 

,vn  was  not  established  by  law  until  1742,  and   he   died   only  two  years  later.     A  few 

rehouses  for  the  storage  and  shipment  of  tobacco  were   built    first  of   all ;    then   an 

gular  and  scattering  collection  of  houses  for  trade  grew  up  around  them  ;  and  on  the 

Is  overlooking  the  settlement  arose  the  dwellings  of  a  few  rich  planters  and  the  thriv- 

Scotch  and  English  merchants  who  had  established  themselves  at  the  place.  But 
fine  town-house  of  Madame  Rachel  Esmond  Warrington  was  fixed  there  by  Mr. 
uckeray  several  decades  too  soon.  Richmond,  indeed,  had  no  importance  until  it  sup- 
ntcd  Williamsburg  as  the  seat  of  the  State  government  in  1779,  and  so  little  prepared 
.s  it  for  defence  in  war  that  it  was  given  up  to  the  British  troops,  in  Arnold's  descent 

n  Virginia,  without  the  firing  of  a  gun,  and  Lieutenant-Colonel  Simcoe,  of  the  Queen's 
mgers,  rode  into  it  with  barely  a  show  of  opposition. 

Immediately  after  the  War  of  the  Revolution,  sanguine  expectations  were  entertained 
it  Richmond  would  soon   berome,  not  only  the  seat  of  a  large  trade,  but  a  centre 

learning  and  science.    Commercial  relations  were  established  with  London,  and  vessels 

small  tonnage  made  passages  of  sixty  days  from  the  wharves  of  Richmond  to  the 

of  the  Thames.     Before  many  years  an  India-house  was  built,  with  the  vague  idea 

it  the  fabrics  and  spices  of  the  East  would   be  brought   from   Bombay  and   Calcutta 

xX  to  the  capital  of  Vii^inia.     But  polite  learning  was  to  keep  pace  with   material 


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jwth  and  accordingly  we  read  in  the  annals  of  the  town  that  the  Chevalier  Alexandre 
larie  Ouesnay  de  Beaurepaire  did,  "in  the  year  of  our  Lord  1786,  the  loth  of  the  Re- 
Lblic,  viii  calends  of  July,  Patrick  Henry  being  Governor  of  Virginia,"  lay  the  comer- 
tone  of  an  Academy  of  Arts  and  Sciences,  which  was  designed  to  be  the  American 
ster  of  the  famous  Royal  (National,  Imperial,  and  Republican)  Academy  of  Sciences 
Lf  Paris,  an  enterprise  which  failed,  however,  long  before  the  dreams  of  commercial  great- 
ess  had  been  relinquished. 

The  point  from  which  the  most  commanding  and  comprehensive  view  of  Richmond 
visible,  bears  the  name  of  Hollywood  Cemetery,  a  picturesque  elevation  in  the  north- 
estern  suburbs,  where  rest  the  remains  of  many  illustrious  men,  and  of  thousands  who 
the  recent  struggle  • 

"  Went  down  to  their  graves  in  bloody  shrouds."  ^ 

|ar  away  from  the  noises  of  city-life,  curtained   by  Nature  with  the   luxuriant  foliage  of 
ee  and  flower,  and  presenting  at  every  turn  of  hill   and   dell   patches  of  beauty  which 

cannot  improve,  there  is  perhaps  no  spot  in  America  more  suggestive  of  the  solemn 
Bociations  that  attach  to  the  sacred  circle  of  the  dead.    At  the  southern  extremity  may 

seen  the  monument  erected  to  the  memory  of  President   Monroe,  whose  remains  were 

noved  hither  from  New  York  under  the  escort  of  the  Seventh  Regiment  of  that  city 
ireral  years  before  the  war;  and  all  around   the  spacious  grounds  shafts  and  cenotaphs 

reared  to  pay  the  tribute  of  the  living  to  those  who  have  "gone  before." 
The  scene  from  President's  Hill,  in  Hollywood,  is  one  that  never  tires  the  eye,  be- 
iuse  it  embraces  a  picture  which  somewhere  among  its  lights  and  shadows  presents 
Btures  that  constantly  appeal  to  imagination  and  refined  taste.  In  the  great  perspective 
liich  bounds  the  horizon  the  distant  hills  and  forests  take  new  color  from  the  changing 
[)uds;  while  nearer — almost  at  your  feet — the  James  River,  brawling  over  the  rocks,  and 
Ranting  its  perpetual  requiem  to  the  dead  who  lie  around,  catches  from  the  sunshine 
aying  on  its  ruffled  breast  kaleidoscopic  hues.  Hundreds  ol'  willowy  islets  impede  its 
|»\v,  diversifying  the  picture  with   patches   of  green,  and  the   brown-backed  rocks  and 

^es  peeping  out  are  marked  by  silvery  trains  of  foam. 
Intermediate  in  elevation    between    the   river   and    the    summit   of  President's    Hill 
|nds,  in  a  graceful  curve,  the  canal,  seeking   its  basin   at  the   town ;  and  not  far  away 
the  forges  of  the  Tredegar  Iron-works,  the  fiery  chimneys  of  which   at   night  belch 

th  flames  that  send  their  sparkle  into  a  thousand  windows,  and    make  pictures  in  the 
bpling  waters.     Still   beyond  these,  in  the  sketch,  are  visible  the  gigantic  flour-mills  for 

bich  Richmond  is  justly  famous,  it  being  claimed  that  these   buildings   are   the  largest 

the  kind  in  the  world.     The  curious  fact  may  be  stated  in  this  connection    that   the 
pur  manufactured  here  is  said  to  be  the  only  brand  which  is  capable  of  resisting  the 

at  of  the  tropics. 


I 


t     l^l 


74 


PICTURESQUE    AMERICA. 


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'i  I 


That,  however,  which  attracts  the  attention  of  the 
visitor  above  all  other  objects  as  he  views  the  broad 
prospect,  is  the  city  itself,  with  its  bold  yet  broken  out- 
line of  roofs  and  spires.  V 

The  ground  on  which  Richmond  is  built  is  a  succession  of 
hills  and  valleys.  Indeed,  it  is  sometimes  called,  like  Rome,  "  the 
seven-hilled  city,"  and,  in  approaching  from  almost  any  direction,  it  produces  upon  tkl 
stranger  the  imposing  effect  of  a  large  and  populous  capital.  Nor  will  he  be  disapl 
pointed  by  his  subsequent  experience,  for  he  will  still  find  the  city  a  place  of  interejl 
as  the  social  and  political  centre  of  Virginia. 

From  the  period  of  the  Revolution  down  to  the  present  time  the  flower  of  tkl 
country-people  have  been  in  the  habit  of  spending  here  a  considerable  portion  of  ilit| 
year,  while  the  sessions  of  the  Legislature  and  the  courts  drew  together  many  of  tlii| 
most  brilliant  intellects  of  the  land.  In  1861  still  greater  prominence  was  given  to  Ridl 
mond  by  its  selection  as  the  capital  of  the  Southern  Confederacy.  It  became  the  honxl 
of  the  Southern  leaders  and  the  resort  of  the  officers  of  its  armies,  while  the  nct-woij 
of  intrenchments  that  almost  encircled  the  city  and  the  battles  fought  in  the  ncjghb*! 
hood  tell  of  the  obstinacy  with  which  it  was  defended  as  the  key-stone  of  the  caustj 
In  April,  1865,  when  the  Confederate  forces  evacuated  their  positions,  nearly  one  thotl 


RICHMOND,   SCENIC   AND    HISTORIC. 


n 


id  houses,  including  property  to  the  value  of  eight  million  dollars,  were  destroyed  by 
Since  then,  however,  Richmond  has  nearly  recovered  from  her  misfortune,  and  there 
now  visible  but  few  traces  of  the  great  conflagration. 

Chief  among  the  public  buildings,  and  one  that  may  be  said  to  belong  to  the  post- 
levolutionary  period,  is  the  Capitol,  a  structure  which  lifts  itself  above  all  other  buildings 
from  an  Acropolis,  and  has,  indeed,  an  imposing  effect,  which  is  not  wholly  lost  when 
e  frets  near  enough  to  see  the  meanness  of  its  architectural  details  and  the  poverty  of 
materials.    The  Maison  Carrde  at  Nismes,  in  France,  was  selected  by  Mr.  Jefferson  as 
he  model  for  the  structure,  but  so  many  alterations  were   made   in  this  model  that  the 
lapitol  resembles  the  Maison  Carrie  about  as  much   as   the    Hall   of  Records  in    New- 
fork  City  resembles  the  Temple  of  Wingless  Victory.      For  all  the   purposes   of  the 
Bcturesque,  however,  the  Capitol   serves  as  well  in  the  prospect  from  Hollywood  as  if  it 
Ure  the  Parthenon   restored.     At  the   distance  of  two  miles  the  stucco  of  its  exterior 
litters  in  the  sunlight,  like  marble,  and  there  is  a  symmetry  in  its  proportions  which  Mr. 
iuskin  himself  would  acknowledge,  harrowing  as  the  building  might   be   to  his  aesthetic 
l>ul  when  he  came  to  examine  it. 

It  stands  on  the  brow  of  what  is  known  as  Shockoe  Hill,  in  the  centre  of  a  public 

Luare  of  about  eight  acres,  which,  being  beautifully  laid  out,  is  a  favorite  place  of  resort 

both  citizens  and  strangers,  who  find  in  its  shady  recesses  and  the  music  of  its  foun- 

tins  a  grateful  contrast  to  the  dust  and  bustle   of  the   streets.     The   building  is   of  the 

eco-composite  order,  adorned  with   a   portico  of  Ionic    columns,  and   the  view  from  it 

extensive,  varied,  and  beautiful.     The  entrances  are  on  the  two  longer  sides,  and   lead 

a  square  hall  in  the  centre  of  the    building,  surmounted  by  a  dome.      In  the   centre 

this  hall  is  the  famous  marble  statue  of  Washington,  bearing  this  inscription : 


■'•(  ''ill 


time  the  flower  of  tlitj 
siderable  portion  of  tlxl 
w  together  many  of  till 
ence  was  given  to  Ricbl 
It  became  the  honitj 
mies,  while  the  nct-woiil 
fought  in  the  neightal 
key-stone  of  the  caiEJ 
•sitions,  nearly  one  thwl 


"  Fait  par  Hotidon,  Citoyen  Franfais,  1 788." 

On  the  pedestal  is  the  honest  and  affectionate  inscription  which  follows : 

"The  General  Assembly  of  the  Commonwealth  of  Virginia   have  caused  this  statue 
be  erected  as  a  monument  of  affection  and  gratitude  to 

George   Washington, 

jio,  uniting  to  the  endowments  of  the    Hero   the  virtues  of  the    Patriot,  and   exerting 

Ith  in  Establishing  the  Liberties   of  his   Country,  has    rendered    his   name    dear   to   his 

bilovv  Citizens,  and  given  the  World  an  immortal  example  of  true  Glory.     Done  in  the 

arof 

CHRIST 

ne  Thousand  Seven  Hundred  and  Eighty  Eight  and  in  the  year  of  the  Commonwealth 

Twelfth."  *  •  v. 


|: 


76 


PICTURESQUE   AMERICA. 


The  statue  is  clothed  in  the  uniform  of  an  American  general  during  the  Revolution  i 
and  is  of  the  size  of  life.  In  one  of  the  niches  of  the  wall  is  a  marble  bust  of  La.  I 
faytttc.  Among  other  objects  of  interest  here,  is  an  antique  English  stove  covered  witll 
ornamental  castings  and  inscriptions,  and  dating  far  back  beyond  the  Revolution.  It  uasj 
used  to  warm  the  old  V'-ginia  House  of  Burgesses  at  Williamsburg,  in  colonial  times! 
and  still  holds  its  place  in  the  present  hall  as  the  centre  of  legislative  discussion  and  I 
gossip,  as  it  no  doubt  was  more  than  a  hundred  years  ;igo.  The  library  contains  manti 
historic  relics  and  valuable  old  pictures,  and  indeed  the  entire  building  is  rich  in  associa-l 
tions  which  make  the  place  seem  almost  sacred.  Here  Aaicr.  Burr  was  tried  for  treasoil 
before  John  Marshall;  here  Lafayette  was  received  by  his  old  companions  in  the  cabinet  I 
and  the  field ;  here  the  memorable  Convention  of  i829-'30  held  its  sessions,  amnnfl 
whose  members  were  Madison,  Monroe,  Marshall,  John  Randolph,  Leigh,  and  many  othetl 


>  I  < 


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The   James  Above   Richmond 


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RICHMOND,   SCENIC   AND   HISTORIC. 


11 


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men  of  national  fame ;  and  here,  at  a 
later  period,  Stonewall  Jackson  lay  in 
his  coffin,  with  the  new  flag  of  the  Con- 
federate States  (then  first  used)  for  his 
pall. 

A  few  rods  distant  from  the   Capi- 
tol stands  the  celebrated  equestrian  statue 
of  Washington,   by   Crawford.      It   con- 
sists  of   a    bronze    horse    and    rider    of 
gigantic   size,  artistically   poised   upon  a 
edestal  of  granite,  and  surrounded  by  immense  bronze  figures  of  Patrick  Henry,  Thomas 
Jfeiferson,  John    Marshall,   George    Mason,  Thomas    Nelson,   and   Andrew    Lewis.      Each 
these  statues  is  a  study  in   itself,  as  a   specimen   of  the    sculptor's  genius,  and   as  an 
Imost  "speaking  likeness"  of  the  original.     Henry  is  represented  in  the  act  of  delivering 
impassioned  address;  Jefferson,  with  pen  in  hand,  and   thoughtful   brow,  appears   the 
atesman ;   Marshall  wears  the  dif;  nity  and  firmness  of  the  great  judge ;   while  the  noble 
Drm  of  General  Andrew  Lewis,  irrrayed  in  the   hunting-costume   of  the   pioneer,  recalls 
Ehe  romance  and  daring   of  early  days.      On  smaller  pedestals  are  civic  and  military  alle- 
Drical  illustrations,  also  in  bronze;   and,  altogether,  the   monument    is   perhaps  the  most 
Ptnposing  in  America. 

In  another  portion   of  the   Capitol  grounds   is   a   marble  statue   of  Henry  Clay,  of 
Ife-sizc,  which  well  deserves  the  attention  of  the  ttmrist  as  a  faithful  work  of  art. 

The  prominent  public  buildings  of  Richmond  are  substantial,  and  in  most  instances 
|andsome  specimens  of  architecture.  The  City  Hall,  Custom-House,  Governor's  Mansion, 
Penitentiary,  Medical   College,  and   State  Armory,  are  severally  worthy  of  a  visit;  while, 


%  ■:■■!■> 


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78 


PICTURESQUE  AMERICA. 


1=  I 


I 


among  the  many  churches,  that  which  occupies  the  site  of  the  ill-fated  theatre  destroyed 
by  fire  in  181 1,  when  the  Governor  of  the  State  and  sixty  others  perished  in  the  fliimes,  I 
is  the  most  notable.  The  "  Old  Stone  House "  is  cherished  in  the  affections  of  the 
citizens  of  Richmond  as  the  first  dwellinjr  erected  within  the  city  limits.  "It  was 
occupied,  when  I  visited  it/'  says  Lossing,  in  his  "  Field- Book  of  the  Revolution,"  "by 
Mrs.  Elizabeth  Welsh,  whose  great-grandfather,  Jacob  Ege,  from  Germany,  built  it  before 
Byrd's  warehouse  was  erected.  It  was  owned  by  Mrs.  Welsh's  father,  Samuel  Ege,  who 
was  a  commissary  in  the  American  army  during  the  War  of  the  Revolution.  Wash- 
ington, Jefferson,  Madison,  and  Monroe,  have  all  been  beneath  its  roof.  Mrs.  Welsh 
informed  me  that  she  well  remembers  the  fact  that  Monroe  boarded  with  her  mother  I 
while  attending  the  Virginia  Convention  in  1788." 

At  the  remotest  point  of  the  landscape  in  the  drawing   of  "  Richmond  from  Holly. 
wood "  may  be  seen  a  white  spire  on  the  summit  of  a  hill.    This  is  the  old  parish-churth  I 
of  St.  John's,  Henrico,  probably  the  first   building   of  note  that  was  erected  within  what 
are  now  the  limits  of  the  city,  th<  n  standing  solitary  in   the   midst   of  the   native  forest 
which   overlooked    the   small  warehouses  and   tobacco-sheds   at   the   head   of  navigatioa 
At  what  exact  period  St.  John's   Church  w^as   built,  the   local    historians   do   not  infont 
us;  but   there   are   tombs  in  the  burial-ground  bearing  date  i;5i,  and  probably  no  inter] 
ment  was  made  there  until  after  parish  services  were  regularly  performed  in   the   build 
itself.     Mr.  Fenn's  beautiful  sketch  presents  it  exactly  as  it  now  appears,  and  gives  that  I 
side  which  is  oldest  in  construction.     Originally,  it  was  without  a»'chitectural  pretensioiiil 
of  any  kind;  but,  thirty  years  or  more  ago,  it  was   modernized   by  the   erection  of  a  I 
tower,  and  enlaigf^d  by  an  addition  joining  the  ancient  part  at  right  angles.     During  the  I 
late  civil  war  the  tower  fell  in  a  high  wind,  and  has  been  replaced  by  the  spire  which  is  I 
seen  in  the  drawing.     The   old  church  was  far  less  imposing,  without   and   within,  thai  I 
Trinity  at  Newport,  which   it  resembled  in  the  general  arraiigement  of  its  pews,  and  ial 
an  old  sounding-board  that  once  stood  above  the  pulpit,  but  yielded  at  last  to  the  progJ 
ress  of  decay.     The  associations  of  the  building  are  of  the  most  stirring  and  interesting 
character.     Here  assembled,  on  the  20th  of  March,  1775,  the  Second  Convention  of  VirJ 
ginia,  which  was  called  to  determine  the  question  of  peace  or  war  between  the  colony  an^  I 
the  crown,  and  which  gave  to  the  Old   Dominion  the  honor  of  organizing  the  first  plan  I 
of  resistance   to    Britisli    tyranny.      The  deliberitions   of  this  convention  form  a  striking  I 
chapter  in   the   history  of   the  American   Revolution,  and   are  familiar  to  all  cduutcilj 
persons  in  the  United  States.     The  body  contained   a   large   number  of  men  who  watl 
destined  to   become    illustrious  in   the  annals  of   the   Commonwealth   and   the  country 
Among  them  were   Peyton   Randolph  and   Richard   Bland,  George  Wythe  and   Kicham 
Henry  Lee.     The  delegate  from  Albemarle  was  Thomas  JefTerson,  and  the  delegaic  from 
Fairfax  was  George  Washington.     But  the  leading  spirit  of  the  convention  was  Patrick 
Henry,  and  the  walls  of  this  old  church  ^ave  back  the  animating  strains  of  his  eloqutiKxl 


Richmond,  scenic  and  historic. 


79 


.u   iU>; 


r^ 


« 

1           '•  -^ 

\yX 

a 

1           .  ,' 

■  '    1 

'1 

;,'■;;*'  '■ 

/I      1 

r' 

',  'v; 

'    ^ 

J;  *!  >' 

V-i                   1    ' 

! 

as,  rising  to  the  full  height  of  his 
argument,  he  utt«red  the  war-cry  of 
the  Retrolution :  "  Is  life  so  dear  oi 
peace  so  sweet  as  to  be  purchased  at 
the  price  of  chains  and  slavery?  For- 
bid it.  Almighty  God!  I  know  not 
what  course  others  may  take,  but,  as 
for  me,  give  me  liberty  or  give  me 
death!" 

The  populous  graveyard  around 
the  church  has  long  since  been  dis- 
used for  interments,  and  the  tombs 
themselves  are  crumbling  into  ruin, 
which  the  deep  grasses  and  running 
ivy  of  the  spot  half  conceal.  On 
some  the  inscriptions  are  almost  ille- 
gible, and  it  is  plain,  from  the  neglect 
of  all,  tiiat  few  descendants  of  the  dead 
that  repose  beneath  them  now  remain 
among  the  inhabitants  of  Richmond. 
None  of  the  great  historic  names  of 
the  Commonwealth  are  to  be  found 
among  these  tombs,  and  the  thoughts 
they  suggest  are  such  as  were  excited 
in  the  mind  of  Gray  at  Stoke  Pogis, 
which  the  "  Elegy "  so  beautifully  and 
effectively  embodies  in  verse.  The 
sleepers  were  the  undistinguished  fore- 
fathers of  the  hamlet  mostly,  of 
var'jus  races  and  nationalities,  and, 
though  three  generations  are  '■epre- 
sented  in  this  city  of  silence  and 
forgetfulness,  quite  as  many  lie  here 
who  prayed  for  King  George  in 
the  church  near  by  as  for  the  Presi- 
dent of  the  United  States  in  later 
times. 

From  tht  hill  on  which  the  church 
stands,  and   indeed  from  most   of  the 


1 ; ' 


8o 


PICTURESQUE   AMERICA. 


hills  about  Richmond,  the  James  River  is  in  view  for  several  mi.!es  of  its  course,  and  lends 
much  to  the  attractiveness  of  the  prospect.  Above  the  city,  in  the  rapids  which  for  six 
miles  tumble  over  a  rocky  bed,  we  see  whence  is  derived  the  water-power  that  animates  the 
mills,  and  how  art  has  overcome  the  obstructions  of  Nature  by  means  of  a  canal  which 
opens  the  navigation  of  the  river  above  the  falls.     Below  the  bridge,  the  scene  is  more 


•i      f 


ii< 


Scene  on  the  Canal. 

peaceful,  and  the  tranquil  surface  of  the  water  reflects  the  steadily-increasing  commcirtj 
of  the  capital.  Barks  and  steamers  ply  regularly  between  its  sister-ports,  and  the  wli 
gleam  of  their  sails  and  the  dark  smoke  of  their  furnaces,  though  far  from  fulfilling  thl 
visions  of  the  builders  of  the  India-house  of  which  we  have  spoken,  give  a  chann  tol 
picturesque   surroundings  that  will  always  be  worthy  of  the  pencil  of  the  artist    TIk| 


RICHMOND,   SCENIC   AND   HISTORIC. 


U 


company Jng  illustrations  correctly  present  various  aspects  of  the  river;   but  it  is  among 

be  rapids,  or  just  below  them,  that   Mr.  Fenn   has   happily  embraced  the  upward  and 

the  downward  view.    The  covered  bridge,  which  a  train  of  cars  is  about  entering,  seen 

In  the  drawing  of  the  rapids,  is  that   of  the   Richmond  and  Danville  Railroad,  and  the 

ames  which  appear  above  the  water  are  the  hsh-traps  which  are  rebuilt  every  spring  to 

Itch   the   shad  as  they  come   over  the   falls.     The   unwary  fish   swims  with   the  swift 

rent  right  into  the  trap,  and   is  carried   by  its  force   out   of  his  native  element,  high 

id  dry  upon  the  strips  of  planking,  there  to  remain   until  the  owner  of  the  trap  re- 

noves  it,  unless   stolen    at   night   by  the  prowling  human  shad-thief,  or  the   predatory 

ccoon  which  inhabits  the  islands  in  the  stream.      Once  in   the  trap,  the  shad  cannot 

Dssibly  go  back,  and,  in  seasons  when  a  good  run   of  this   fish   ascends  the  river,  large 

(lumbers  are  thus  caught  for  the  Richmond  market.      It   may  be  supposed  that  the  navi- 

ation  of  a  river  so  rapid  and  so  rocky  as  the  James  at  this  point,  is   difficult,  but  the 

Legro    boatmen    have    great    dexterity   in  poling  and  paddling  their  little   skiffs  across 

[>m  island  to  island;    and  the  small   steam-yacht,  which   lies   under  the   island's   bank 

the  picture,  does   no   more    than    shoot   the  torrent    into   the   deeper   and  smoother 

ater  lower  down. 

The  canal,  which   is  seen   in  the  last  of  Mr.  Fenn's  collection  of  drawings,  is  con- 

cted  with   tide-water  by   a  series    of  locks,  with  an   aggregate  lift   of  ninety-six   feet. 

fwo  of  tliese  locks  on  the  highest  level  constitute  the  central  pait  of  a  sketch  which, 

first  glance,  looks  as  if    it    were   designed    to   set   before   us  a  quaint,  old,   tumble- 

Bwn  nook  or  comer  of  some  European  city.     Upon  examination,  however,  one  sees  the 

African  element  of  the  population   in   such  force,  tending   the  lock,  feeding  the  poultry, 

ad    driving  the  team  across  the   bridge,  as  to   determine    the    locality  in   a   Southern 

ni  of  l.he   United   States.      One  cannot  help    recognizing  in   this  sketch    how   much 

)re  elTectivc  in  the   hands  of  the  artist  is  dilapidation  than  tidiness,  and  a  ruin  than 

perfect    structure.      The  ramshackle    porches   of   the    negro    tenements   here   have    a 

jhcr  "fleet  than   would  a  neat   row   of  white-painted   houses   with   green    1  lindr   in  a 

ell-krpt   New-Engla-.'d  village,  and  the   broken   walls  of  the  warehouse   (destroyed   by 

fire    of   April,  1865,  and    never    rebuilt)  are    more   picturesque  than  would  be  the 

^ootli  front  of  a  factory  that   might  give  occupation   to   five   hundred  operatives. 

Richmond  retains  yet,  in   the   marks  of  her  great   conflagration,  much   of  that  un- 

pirable  picturcsquencss  that  belongs  to  ruins.     But  such  is  the  beauty  of  its  site,  and 

charm  of  its  landscape,  ihat,  when  not  one  ragged  wall  or  cruel  chasm  shall  be  left 

suggest  the  ravage  it  has  undergone —when  the  whole  river-margin  along  the  rapids 

ill  have  been  made  vulgar  and  noisy  (and  profitable)  by  lines  of  factories,  and   Rich- 

ttnil  slii'll  Iwcome  the  great  manufacturing  city  of  the  South — even  then  it  will  tempt 

wandering  artist  to  take  out   his  portfolio  and  sketch  the  outlines  of  its  hills,  and 

tumult  of  its  leaping  waters. 

n 


% 


illi 


THE    NATURAL    BRIDGE,  VIRGINIA. 


WITH    ILLUSTRATIONS    BY    HARRY    FENN. 


>    1 


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i 


" 


#■    "     " 

npHE   Falls  of  Niagtl 

■■■     ra   and  the   Natuni| 

Bridge  are  justly  cstecnMsl 

the  most  remarkable  »| 

osities   in    North  Amcrial 

So  exceptional  is  the  beauty,  m\ 

gled    with    sublimity,  of  tlicst  [)| 

mous  scenes,  that  thoughtless  pnl 

sons    have    characterized    them  i<| 

"freaks  of  Nature."     But   in  N'J 

ture — great,   beneficent,  and  d( 

all  things  in  order — there  are  no  freaks  I 

She    shows    her    power    in    the  grand  I 


■iiii^i   I  i,  ^. 


THE   NATURAL    BRIDGE,    VIRGINIA. 


83 


itaract,  spanned  with  its  rainbow,  and  in  the  dizzy  arch  of  the   Natural   Bridge,  as   in 
lie  daisy  and  the  violet  she  shows  her  grace  and  beauty. 

The  Natural  Bridge,  the  character  and  formation  of  whose  upper  portion  are  dis- 

tlaved  in    the  first   of    the  accompanying  sketches,  has    been,  from  about  the  middle 

the  eighteenth  century,  an  object  of  curiosity  and  admiration   in   Europe  as  well   as 

America.     Whatever  traveller  came  to  the  Western  World,  to  compare  its  natural 

mdeur  with  the  grandeur   of  art  and  architecture  in  the  countries  he  had  left,  went 

St  in   the    North,  to   the    Falls  of  Niagara,  and,  in    the   South,  to  the   world-famous 

idge.     Among  these    may  be  mentioned  the  courtly  and    distinguished    Marquis    de 

Ihastellux,  major-general  in  the    French   Army  and    member  of  the   Institute,  who  in 

»8i  visited  the  place,  and  from  whose  rare  volumes  we  present  a  few  paragraphs  which 

lay  interest  the  reader. 

Having  thus  travelled   for  two  hours,"  writes  the   marquis,  "  we  at  last  descended 

stct'i)  declivity,  and  then  mounted    another.  ....  At  last  my  guide  said  to  me :  '  You 

sire  to  see  the   Natural   Bridge — don't   you,  sir  ?     You  are   now  upon   it ;  alight  and 

twenty  steps  either  to  the  right  or  left,  and  you  will  see  this  prodigy.'     I    had   pcr- 

lived  that  there  was  on  each  side  a  considerable   deep    hollow,  but   the   trees   had   pre- 

itcd  me  from  forming  any  judgment  or  paying  much   attention  tc  it.      Approaching 

precipice,   I   saw,  at  first,  two  great   masses  or  chains    of    rocks,  which  formed  the 

ttom  of  a  ravine,  or,  rather,  of  an   immense  abyss.      But,  placing  myself,  not  without 

;uution,  upon  the  brink  of  the  precipice,  I  saw  that  these  two  buttresses  were  joined 

lldcr  my  feet,  forming  a  vault  of  which    I    could  yet   form   no  idea  but  of  its   height. 

Ifter  enjoying  this  magnificently-tremendous   spectacle,    which  many  persons  could   not 

to  look  at,  I  went  to  the  western  side,  the  aspect  of  which  was  not  less  imposing, 

lit   more  picturesque.     This  TJiebais,    these   ancient    pines,  these    enormous    masses   of 

cs,  so  much  the  more  astonishing   as   they  appear  to   possess  a  wild   symmetry,  and 

delv  to  concur,  as  it  were,  in  forming  a  certain  design — all  this  apparatus  of  rude  and 

pdoss  Nature,  which  art  attempts  in  vain,  attacks  at  once  the  senses  and  the  thoughts, 

excites  a  gloomy  and  melancholy  admiration." 

Such  are  the  terms  in  which  the  gallant   marquis  describes  his  first  sensations,  when, 
yet,  the  view  from  the  summit  was  all    he   had  seen.     He  goes  on  to  say  : 
"  But  it  is  at  the   foot  of  these  rocks,  on   the  edge  of  a    little   stream  which   flows 
er  this  immense  arch,  that  we  must  judge  of  its   astonishing   structure.     There  we 
«ver  its  immense  spurs,  its  back-bendings,  and  those  profiles  which  architecture  might 
given  it.    The  arch  is  not  complete ;  the  eastern  part  of  it  not  being  so  large  as 
western,  because  the  mountain  is  more  elevated  on  this   than  on  the  opposite  side. 
[is  very  extraordinary  that  at  the  bottom  of  the  stream   there  appear  no  considerable 
s,  n(j  trace  of  any  violent  laceration  which  could   have   destroyed   the   kernel  of  the 
aiul  have  left  the  upper  part  alone  subsisting ;  for  that  is  the  only  hypothesis  that 


84 


PICTURESQUE   AMERICA. 


can  account  for  such  a  prodigy.  We  can  have  no  possible  recourse  either  to  a  volcano 
or  a  dehige,  no  trace  of  a  sudden  conflagration  or  of  a  slow  and  tedious  undermining  \\ 
the  water." 

The  point  here  touched  upon  is  one  of  the  most  interesting,  in  a  scientific  view,! 
connected  with  this  famous  curiosity.  The  marquis,  it  will  be  seen,  declares  his  convicJ 
tion  that  the  "prodigy"  was  neither  caused   by  a  volcanic  upheaval,  a  conflagration  \m\ 


/ 


rsO? 


t-^^??^^^ 

-   '^^:^^... 


^'^'!^l^^ 


The  Natural  Bridge  and  its  Surroundings. 

ing  in  the  heart  of  fhe  rock-ribbed  mountain,  nor  by  the  attrition  of  water  slowly  wejti 
ing  away  the  stubborn  limestone.  These  views  are  supported  by  men  of  science,  as  ibil 
following  paragraphs  will  show.  They  are  taken  from  the  memoir  of  the  Baron  dc  Tiuj 
pin,  an  engineer  of  ability,  sent  by  the  Comte  de  Rochambeau  to  measure  the  grM| 
structure : 

"  The  mass  of  rock  and   stone   which   loads  this  arch,"  says  the   baron,  "  is  fowl 
nine  feet  solid  on  the  key  of  the  great  centre,  and  thirty-seven   on   that  of  the  sdl 


THE   NATURAL    BRIDGE,    VIRGINIA.  8$ 

ae-  and,  as  we  find  about  the  same  difference  in  taking  the  level  of  the  hill,  it  may 
supposed  that  the  roof  is  on  a  level  the  whole  length  of  the  key.     It  is  proper  to  ob- 
ire  that  the  live  rock  continues  also  the  whole  thickness  of  the  arch,  and  that  on  the 
Ipposite  side  it  is  only  twenty-five  feet  wide  in  its  greatest  oreadth,  and  becomes  gradu- 
Uy  narrower.    The  whole  arch  seems  to  be  formed  of  one  and  the  same  stone;  for  the 
jints  which  one  remarks  are  the  effect  of  lightning,  which    struck    this   part   in    1779. 
be  other  head  has  not  the  smallest  vein,  and  the  intrados  is  so  smooth  that  the  mar- 
is, which  fly  around  it  in  great  numbers,  cannot  fasten   on  it.      The   abutments,  which 
/e  a  gentle  slope,  are  entire,  and,  without    being   absolute    planes,  have   all  the  pol'sh 
dich  a  current  of  water  would  give  to  unhewn    stone    in    a  certain  time.      The  four 
cks  adjacent  to  the  abutments  seem  to  be  perfectly  homogeneous,  and  to  have  a  very 
lifting  slope.    The  two  rocks  on  the  right   bank  of  the    rivulet  are    two    hundred   feet 
jh  above  the  surface  of  the  water,  the  intrados  of  the   arch    a   hundred   and  fifty,  and 
two  rocks  on  the  left  bank  a  hundred  and  eighty." 

Tlie  baron  then  proceeds,  as  though  weary  of  his  "  great  centres,"  "  intrados,"  and 
bcr  technicalities,  to  burst  forth  with : 

If  we  consider  this  bridge   simply  as  a  picturesque  object,  we   are  struck  with   the 
iijesty  with  which  it  towers  in  the  valley.     The  white-oaks  which  grow  upon   it  seem 
rear  their   lofty  summits  to  the  clouds,  while   the   same    trees  which    border  on   the 
ilet  appear  like  shrubs."      '. 

This  exhibition  of  sentiment,  however,  appears  to  exhaust  the  baron's  stock,  and   he 
jrns  to  his  better-loved  science,  adding : 

"  We  see  that  these  rocks,  being  of  a  calcareous  nature,  exclude  every  idea  of  a  vol- 

(10,  which,  besides,  cannot  be  reconciled  with   the  form  of  the  bridge  and   its  adjacent 

If  it  be  supposed  that  this  astonishing  arch   is   the  effect   of  a  current  of  water, 

must  suppose,  likewise,  that  this  current  has  had  the  force  to  break  down  and  cany 

a  great  distance   a  mass  of  five    thousand  cubic    fathoms,  for  there  remains  not  the 

^luest  trace  of  such  an  operation." 

What,  then,  was  the  mystery  of  the  origin   of  this  celebrated  structure  ?     Science  is 

verless  in  face  of  the  wonder,  and   perhaps,  after  all,  the    conclusion  of  De  Chastellux 

I  the  only  one  attainable— that  "it  is  to  the  labor  only  of  the  Creator  that  we  owe  the 

Tnificent  construction  of  the  Natural  Bridge"— to  which  he  adds:  "The  opinion  of  the 

^mtc  de  Buffon,  whom  I  have  since  consulted,  has  left  me  no  doubt  upon  the  subject." 

From  this  strictly  scientific,  but,  we  think,  suggestive  and    interesting,  view  of  the 

pat  curiosity,  we  pass  to  details  and  circumstances  connected  with  it,  calculated,  per- 

ps,  to  interest  in  a  larger  degree  the  general  reader. 

Mr.  Fcnn's  second  drawing  furnishes  a  distant  view  of  the  bridge,  the  surrounding 
anfr)',  and  objects  in  its  vicinity.  It  will  recall,  doubtless,  to  many  persons,  agreeable 
bolkctions  of  the  landscape  which  saluted  their  eyes  as  they  first  drew  near  the  place 


*♦«-•■■ 
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86 


PICTURESQUE   AMERICA. 


t  1 


53! 


— and  the  names  of  such  are  legion,  for  the  spot  has  been,  for  more  than  half  a  ceg.! 
tury,  the  resort  of  parties  led  by  a  desire  to  explore  the  beauties  of  the  romantic  scent  I 
Of  the  daring  of  some  of  these  visitors,  in  climbing,  or  venturing  to  the  brink  of  thtj 
precipice,  we  shall  give  one  or  two  instances,  kept  alive  by  tradition.  Among  these  \r\ 
ditions,  the  most  thrilling  is  that  of  the  unshrinking  nerve  displayed  by  Miss  Randolph 
a  young  Virginienne,  a  great  belle  of  her  time,  which  was  the  early  portion  of  the  presi 
ent  century.  The  young  lady  had  ridden,  with  a  gay  party  of  youthful  maidens  and  gat  I 
lant  cavaliers,  to  the  bridge,  and  reached  it  on  a  beautiful  evening  of  summer.  Mijsj 
Randolph  is  said,  by  those  who  knew  and  remember  her,  to  have  been  a  young  lady  A 
surpassing  loveliness — tall,  slender,  with  sparkling  eyes,  cheeks  all  roses,  and  noted  for  heil 
gayety  and  mirthful  abandon.  Reaching  the  summit  of  the  bridge,  the  party  dismounted,! 
cautiously  approached  the  brink,  fringed  with  trees  growing  among  the  rocks,  and  gazall 
into  the  gulf  beneath.  Of  the  terrifying  character  of  the  spectacle.  President  JeffersoD'i| 
words  will  give  some  idea : 

"  Though  the  sides  of  the  bridge  are  provided,  in  some  parts,  with  a  parapet  oil 
rocks,"  hi  says,  "  yet  few  men  have  resolution  to  walk  to  them  and  look  over  into  tbtl 
abyss.  You  involuntarily  fall  on  your  hands  and  feet,  creep  to  the  parapet,  and  loclj 
over  it.  Looking  down  from  this  height  about  a  minute  gave  me  a  violent  headache;| 
the  view  is  painful  and  intolerable." 

Reaching  this  dizzy  brink,  the  party  of  young  ladies  and  gentlemen  gazed  iiekj 
when  one  of  the  gallants,  pointing  to  the  broken  stump  of  a  huge  cedar  which  haiil 
once  towered  aloft  upon  a  jagged  abutment,  separated  by  an  intervening  cleft  from  tbil 
main  structure,  expressed  his  conviction  that  no  human  being  lived  sufficiently  daring  tol 
stand  erect  upon  it.  A  gay  laugh  echoed  the  words,  a  silken  scarf  brushed  by  him,  anjj 
the  whole  party  uttered  a  cry  of  terror — Miss  Randolph,  at  one  bound,  had  reached  anil 
now  stood  erect  upon  the  dizzy  pinnacle.  Tradition  relates  that  her  companions  lookeiil 
at  her,  white  and  speechless,  as  so  many  corpses.  Her  death  seemed  certain.  A  wildl 
spirit  of  bravado  had  given  her  courage  for  this  terrible  proceeding ;  but,  perched  thusj 
on  her  slight  footing  above  the  frightful  abyss,  she  must  lose  her  nerve,  grow  dizzy,  aDdl 
be  hurled  upon  the  rocks  beneath — the  beautiful  being  of  a  moment  since— a  mass  of  j 
mangled  and  unrecognizable  flesh  and  bones.  For  an  instant,  the  daring  young 
stood  erect,  riding-whip  in  hand,  her  scarf  floating,  her  eyes  sparkling  with  triumphj 
then,  at  a  single  bound,  she  regained  her  former  position,  and,  with  a  gay  laugh,  askcdj 
if  any  gentleman  could  do  as  much.  Tradition  declares  that,  despite  their  gallantry,  tli(| 
youthful  cavaliers  exhibited  their  good  judgment  by  declining. 

The  most  striking  view  of  the  Natural  Bridge  is  that  from  below,  and  no  bettsl 
hour  could  be  selected  than  that  fixed  upon  by  Mr.  Fenn.  As  the  sun  rises  and  flaslKl 
its  splendors  through  the  gigantic  arch,  the  scene  becomes  one  of  extraordinary  beauiT| 
and  sublimity — beauty  from  the  exquisite  flush  which  spreads  itself  over  rocky  mass 


.  iJitiiiitSi^:^^^£i>ii^&it:': 


THE   NATURAL    BRIDGE,    VIRGINIA. 


87 


tely  fir,  over  pendent  shrub,  and  the  fringe  of  evei^reen ;  and  sublimity  from  the  well- 

rh  overpowering  sentiment  which  impresses  the  mind   in   presence  of  the  mighty  arch 

rock,  towering  far  above,  and   thrown   as   by   the   hand   of  some    Titan    of  old    days 

jss  the  blue  sky,  appearing  both  above  and    beneath.      It   has   been  well  said  that  no 

he  who  has  witnessed  this  extraordinary  spectacle  has  ever  forgotten  it. 

With  the  brilliant   drawing   of  Mr.  Fenn  befoi„  his  eyes,  the  reader  would  only  be 
aried  by  any  description  of  the  exquisite  scene  which  it  represents.    The  grandeur  and 
loveliness   of   the    spectacle    are   sufficiently    indicated — the   gentle    stream   which 


ene 


ses  with  a  murmur  from  its  hiding-place  in  the  bosom   of  the   hills — the   lengthening 
tas  cool  and  soft,  and  bathed  in  dawn — the  silent  mountains — and,  in  the  midst  of  all 

lis  exquisite  beauty,  the  great  soaring  arch,  with  its  jutting  buttresses  and  fringes  of  the 

iergreen  pine,  the  shaggy  eyebrows  of  the  giant.  They  dwindle  these  heavy-headed 
eriireens  into  little  fringes  only — even  that  picturesque  monarch,  represented  in  the 
and  drawing  of  Mr.  Fenn,  on  the  summit  of  the  bridge,  shows  scarce  so  large  as  the 
ay  of  ferns  and  cedar  held  in  the  hand  of  a  girl !  There  is  excellent  reason,  indeed, 
the  loftiest  forest-trees,  proudly  raising  their  heads  to  heaven,  and  affording  a  resting- 
be  for  the  eagle,  should  thus  shrink  in  dimensions.  From  the  summit  to  the  surface 
the  stream  below  is  two  hundred  and  fifteen  feet ;  and  thus  the  Natural  Bridge  is 
^-five  feet  higher  than  Niagara 

It  remains  only,  before  terminating  our  brief  sketch   of  this   celebrated   curiosity,  to 

ak  of  the  hazardous  attempts,  made   by  more   than   one   person,  to   climb   the   rocky 

Es  of  the  great  arch  and  reach  the  summit.     This  has   never  yet   been    done,  but  a 

jsiderable  distance  has  been  attained  by  venturesome  climbers,  who  have  recorded  their 

jwcss  by  cutting  their  names  on   the  surface,  at  the  highest  point  reached  by  them. 

xli  up  among  these,  it  is  commonly  reported,  may  be  found  the  name  of  no  less 

[personage    than  George   Washington,  who,  strong,  adventurous,   and    fond    of    manly 
arts,  was  seized,  like  many  others  before  and  after  him,  with  the   ambition   to  ascend 
I)recipice  and  inscribe  his  name  upon  the  face  of  the  rock. 
The  highest  point  ever  reached  by  any  one  of  these  adventurous  explorers  is  said  to 

Jve  been  attained  by  Mr.  James  Piper,  at  the  time  a  student  of  Washington  College, 
subsequently  a  State  senator.  It  was  about  the  year  1818,  when,  with  some  of  his 
3\v-students,  Mr.  Piper  visited  the  bridge,  descended  to  the  foot  of  the  precipice,  and 
ermined  to  ascertain  to  what  height  it  was  possible  for  a  human  being  to  ascend  by 
Ins  of  inequalities  on  the  surface,  the  assistance  of  shrubs,  or  otherwise.  He  accord- 
|y  commenced  climbing  the  precipice,  and,  taking  advantage  of  every  ledge,  cleft,  and 
jtuberance,  finally  reached  a  point  which,  to  his  companions  far  beneath,  seemed  directly 
jer  the  great  arch.  He  was  far  above  the  names  cut  on  the  stone — fully  fifty  feet 
ve  that  of  Washington — and,  standing  upon  a  ledge,  which  appeared  to  his  terrified 
bw-students  but  a  few  inches  in  width,  shouted  aloud,  waving  one   hand   in  triumph. 


■'■MM 


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1! 


UNDER    THE    NATURAL.    BRIDOB. 


■'•■  ^- ■^■ 


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'<W 


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»cmi  Uttnk 


ABOVE    THE    NATURAL    BRIDQG. 


1 1 

s 

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11    ' 


90 


PICTURESQUE   AMERICA. 


while  with  the  other  he  clung  to  the  face  of  the  precipice.  They  shouted  back  to  hinl 
begging  him  for  God's  sake  to  descend,  but  he  only  replied  by  laughter.  They  then  sail 
him  continue  the  ascent,  clinging  to  every  object  at  hand,  until  he  reached  a  cleft  almostl 
directly  beneath  the  cedar-stump  which  we  have  mentioned  as  the  scene  of  Miss  Ran,! 
dolph's  perilous  adventure.  His  ambition  was  not  yet  satisfied,  however.  He  had  noil 
ascended  the  rock  to  inscribe  his  name  upon  it,  but  with  the  daring  design  of  imtnotl 
taiizing  himself  by  mounting  from  the  bottom  to  the  top  of  the  Natural  Bridge.  Htj 
accordingly  continued  his  way,  working  his  toilsome  and  dangerous  passage  througkj 
clefts  in  the  huge  mass  of  rock.  These  were  just  sufficient,  in  many  places,  to  pcmiil 
his  body  to  pass ;  and  huge  roots  from  the  trees  above,  protruding  through  splits  in  tlxl 
mass,  curled  to  and  fro,  and  half  obstructed  the  openings.  With  unfaltering  resolutioi,| 
and  not  daring  to  look  into  the  hideous  gulf  beneath  him,  the  young  man  fought  liis| 
way  on,  piercing  by  main  force  the  dark  clefts,  crawling  along  narrow  ledges,  springiiig| 
from  abutment  to  abutment,  until  finally  he  stopped  at  an  elevation  of  one  hmdn\ 
and  seventy  feet  from  the  earth  below.  Here  he  was  seen  to  look  upward,  but  he  diiij 
not  move.  His  heart  had  failed  him.  Instead  of  designing  any  further  ascent,  his  onlv| 
ambition  now  was  plainly  to  descend  in  safety,  if  possible,  from  his  frightful  perch.  To| 
look  beneath  would  have  been  certain  death.  His  head  would  have  turned  at  the  liisj 
glance,  and,  losing  his  footing  on  the  narrow  ledge,  which  he  just  clung  to,  his  bodjj 
would  have  been  dashed  to  pieces  on  the  rocks.  ,r   ■; 

Under  these  circumstances  the  young  gentleman  acted  with  a  nerve  and  presenctl 
of  mind  highly  honorable  to  the  force  of  his  character.  He  slowly  and  cautiousltj 
divested  himself  first  of  one  of  his  shoes,  and  then  the  other,  next  drew  off  his  coaij 
and  these  articles  he  threw  from  him  into  the  gulf  beneath,  without  daring  to  iooic  iil 
the  direction  in  which  they  fell.  Then,  clinging  close  to  the  face  of  the  precipice,  aDil| 
balancing  his  body  carefully  as  he  placed  each  foot  down,  and  raised  each  one  up,  btl 
tottered  along  inch  by  inch,  hanging  between  life  and  death  until  he  reached  a  frien(ll?| 
cleft.  Here  pausing  for  a  moment  to  brace  his  nerves,  he  continued  his  way  in  the  sam| 
cautious  manner,  followed  by  the  eyes  of  his  pale  and  terrified  friends ;  when,  disappeariiif| 
in  a  cleft,  he  reappeared  no  more.  A  cry  rose  from  beneath ;  he  was  lost,  it  seemed- 
must  have  fallen  into  one  of  the  huge  fissures  and  been  dashed  to  pieces.  His  frieiiili| 
had  given  him  up,  and  agony  had  succeeded  the  long  suspense,  when  suddenly,  froaj 
behind  a  clump  of  evergreens,  extending  like  a  screen  across  the  narrow  opening  betweeij 
two  towering  rocks,  appeared  the  young  student  —  safe,  sound,  and  smiling,  after  t 
perilous  feat,  during  which  he  had  stood  face  to  face  with  the  most  terrible  of  deaths. 

The    Natural    Bridge   is   in   the   southeastern   comer  of  Rockbridge   Couiity,  in  ttitl 
midst  of  the  wild   scenery  of  the   Blue-Ridge  region,  and  almost  under  its  shadow  upoij 
its  western  side.     It  is  reached  from  Lexington,  fourteen  miles  distant,  by  stage,  and  f 
Lynchburg,  by  canal-boat,  thirty-six  miles. 


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THE    DELAWARE    WATER-GAP. 


VITH   ILLUSTRATIONS  BY  GRANVILLE   PERKINS. 


MIE    Indians    called    the    Kitta- 
tinny  the   Endless   Mountain ; 
i  disrcjjarding   all   the  discussions 
modern   science,  we  may  still  say 
at  till'  fjreat  range  strctchinfj  from 
|aino    to    Georgia   was   the   strong 
jickl)i>iif    of    the    thirteen    colonies, 

at  made  them  stand  erect  among  the  nations.  In  such  union,  indeed,  there  is  strength ; 
kd  (rrandtur  and  beauty  invest  the  whole — whether,  as  the  Green  Mount  'ins,  giving  its 
||,;i(iiiic  name  to  Vermont,  or  when  the  snow-capped  peaks  become  the  White  Moun- 
jiis  of  New  Hampshire;  whether  Dutched  into  Kaatskill,  or  when,  in  Pennsylvania 
lid  the  more  Southern  States,  the  even  tinting  of  th^  forest-clad  sides  renames  them,  as, 
citing  iioftly  into  the  atmosphere,  they  arc  as  blue  as  the  circumambient  air. 


W 


■  I' 
'■■'  i| 


ill' 

m 


■Ui 


'\: 


•Sr. 


IS-^^  ^ 


ii.«i':i 


92 


PICTURESQUE   AMERICA. 


n 


ifji  1 


f 


In  Pennsylvania  the  range  is  peculiarly  symmetrical,  and  the  richly-wooded  sides 
regular  outline  well  entitle  it  to  the  name  of  Blue  Ridge,  given  to  it,  in  popular  pa.! 
lance,  by  the  early  settlers.  The  uniformity  of  character  is  still  further  illustrated  in  this  I 
State  by  the  almost  equal  intervals  at  which  the  barrier  is  broken  by  the  waters  of  the! 
Delaware,  Lehigh,  Schuylkill,  Swatara,  and  Susquehanna. 

Pretty  streams   rise  on   the   western   declivity   of   the    Catskills,  and,   quitting  theirl 
mountain   birthplace,  wand<;r  toward  the  southwest  until   near  the   line  of  Pennsylvania! 
they  unite,  and  thence,  as  the   mighty  Delaware,  move   on   in   constantly-increasing 
ume,  the  fitting  boundary  of  majestic  commonwealths. 

Near  the  junction  of  the  three  States  of  New  Yoik,  New  Jersey,  and  Pennsylvan^l 
the  river  again  approaches  the  mountains,  and  follows  their  western  side  through  \ 
succession  of  magnificent  scenes,  which,  gradually  increasing  in  grandeur,  find  a  suJ 
lime  culmination  where  the  river  turns  abruptly  into  the  mountain,  which  opens  tol 
give  it  passage  into  a  defile,  or  caflon,  called,  in  our  prosaic  vernacular,  the  Delawanl 
Water-Gap.  Thence  forward  the  forms  gradually  soften  from  grandeur  into  grace,  anil 
the  river,  escaping  from  bluff,  precipice,  and  rock,  pursues  its  way  through  picturesqutl 
rolling  lands  toward  the  level  of  the  seaboard. 

The  country  north  of  the  Blue  Ridge  and  above  the  Gap  bore  the  Indian  naiKl 
of  Minisink,  or  "  Whence  the  Waiters  are  gone."  Here  a  vast  lake  once  probablil 
extended;  and,  whether  the  great  body  of  water  wore  its  way  through  the  mountaiil 
by  a  fall  like  Niagara,  or  burst  through  a  gorge,  or  whether  the  mountains  upratl 
in  convulsion  upon  its  margin,  it  is  certain  that  the  Minisink  country  bca;.:  the  markdl 
aqueous  action  in  its  diluvial  soil,  and  in  its  rounded  hills,  built  of  pebbles  and  bowidenl 

Whether  by  upheaval  or  down-dropping,  by  slow  friction  or  sudden  disruption,  thl 
wound  was  made,  rarely  is  seventeen  hundred  feet  of  Mother  Earth's  anatomy  so  laidl 
bare  to  the  eye,  and  the  Gap  furnishes  especial  temptations  for  geological  speculation. 

To  the  first  settlers  the  mountains  proved  a  troubLrome  barrier,  and  all  intercouixl 
to  the  southward  necessarily  passed  through  the  natural  gate-ways  of  the  gaps;  but  tltl 
Delaware  writhed  its  way  through  its  cavc;rnous  passage  with  contortions  too  lihl 
those  of  the  rattlesnakes  that  thronged  upon  the  banks,  and  the  dangerous  pass  vttl 
long  avoided  for  the  easier  road  through  the  Lehigh  Gap,  where  the  water-course  «(j 
a  pretty  stream  led  to  the  head-waters  of  Cherry  Oeek,  and  a  pleasant  road  foiiowed  Jtl 
bank  through  the  beautiful  C'herry  \'^alley,  full  of  dimpling  hills  and  fine  orchards,  amocjl 
which  stalwart  men  lived  to  a  ri|)e  old  age  upon  the  puregt  apple-whiskey.  This  ChenrJ 
Creek,  running  toward  the  north  along  the  western  side  of  the  r.ountain,  to  join  tbtl 
Delaware  just  al)ovc  the  Gpp,  formed  a  natural  road  to  Fhiladelphii ,  which  by  reason  (il 
its  pleasantness  long  maintained  its  popularity.  Nearly  midway  between  the  two  livffil 
Nature  had  also  [irovided  another  gate-way  in  the  Wind  Gap,  called,  by  the  early  nuteil 
settlers,  "  Die  Wind  Kaft,"  a   shaq)   notch,  which,  descending  almost  to  the  base  of  tkl 


* 


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t 


■i-i 


':    i. 


PICTURESQUE   AMERICA. 


m%  m 


mountain,  but  not  low  enough  for  a  water-passage,  was  only  a  pass  for  the  winds.  This 
route,  early  used,  was  the  well-known  road  cut  by  General  Sullivan  and  his  army  in  i 
1779.  These  better  routes  caused  the  Gap  of  the  Delaware  to  be  left  to  the  rattlesnakes 
for  a  long  period,  and  it  was  not  until  the  year  1800  that  a  serviceable  road  was  made 
through  it,  by  the  exertions  of  the  people  of  the  neighboring  country,  for  their  own 
convenience. 

The  earliest  history  of  the  region  is  involved  in  obscurity;  but,  shortly  after  Hen- 1 
drick  Hudson,  in  his  little  Half-Moon,  passed  up  the  river  that  was  thenceforth  to  bear 
his  name,  his  enterprising  countrymen  founded  settlements  at  Orange,  afterward  to  be 
known  as  Albany,  and  at  Esopus,  since  the  historic  city  of  Kingston.  The  pretty  val- 
leys  leading  to  the  Southwest  wooed  these  colonists  to  travel,  and  the  Dutch,  certainly 
at  an  early  day,  traversed  the  valleys  of  the  Mamakating  and  Neversink  to  the  land  of 
the  Minisink.  Near  the  Gap  were  found  mines  of  copper  and  iron,  and  "the  min^| 
road"  was  soon  opened,  proving  so  available  that,  even  as  late  as  the  year  1800,  it  was | 
chosen  by  John  Adams  as  the  best  route  from  Boston  to  Philadelphia. 

Of  these  earliest  Dutch  immigrants  little  is  positively  known,  and  it  is  believed  I 
that  some  of  those  farthest  advanced  into  the  wilderness  returned  to  safer  and  morel 
friendly  regions  when  the  country,  in   1664,  fell  into  the  hands  of  the  English. 

The  religious  persecutions  in  France,  which  compelled  the  Pr..estants  to  escape  into] 
Holland,  were  the  remote  cause  of  the  introduction  of  French  settlers  into  these  forest- 1 
wildernesses.     Among  them,  Nicholas  Depuy,  coming  with  the  Dutch  to  Esopus,  finallv  1 
established  himself  a  few  miles  above  the   Delaware  Water-Gap.     Two   fertile   islands  in 
the  river  furnished  him  farming-ground,  and   he   soon   built  upon  the  main-land  a  stone 
edifice,  which,  well  known  as  a  frontier  fort  during  the  'ong  period "  of  the  Indian  wars,  | 
is  now  a  charming  residence.     Seated   in  the    broad,  spacious   hall,  a   forward  view  leads 
through   a   lovely  lane  of  greenery  to  the  base  of  a  high  mountain ;  and  then,  glancinj 
backward,  a  flowery  path  carries  the  vision    down   to   the   gleaming  waters  of  the  river, 
thence   over   the    fertile   island  to   the   towering    mountains    beyond,  whose  tops  seem  to 
touch  the  very  clouds 

The  pioneer  Frenchman,  vigorously  and  bravely  erecting  his  home  in  the  wilder- 
ness, had  never  heard  of  the  peaceful  settlement  of  Quakers  away  down  the  stream, 
and  both  parties  seem  to  have  been  equally  astonished  when  the  envoys  of  tlic  Penn 
government,  after  toilsomely  leading  tb^ir  horses  through  the  unknown  terrors  of  the 
cavernous  Ga|),  entered  the  fertile  country  beyond,  and  found  a  firmly-established  settle- 
ment. The  Huguenot  told  them  of  his  crops,  and  how  he  carried  his  wheat  along  a 
good  road  J  'Sopus,  and  proudly  showed  his  little  fort  and  his  cultivated  islands,  while 
the  envoys  especially  marvelled  at  his  fine  apple-trees,  and  told  him  how  a  town  was 
being  planted  down  the  river. 

The  love  of  adventure   that   marks  the  true   frontiersman  is  well   illustrated  in  the 


Itl'fuinitki.^atmSki.tidikikt, 


THE   DELAWARE    WATER-GAP. 


95 


for  the  winds.  This 
in  and  his  army  \ 
\  to  the  rattlesnakes 
ible  road  was  made  I 
untry,  for  their  own  1 

t,  shortly  after  Hen. 
thenceforth  to  beat 
ige,  afterward  to  be 
on.  The  pretty  val- 
the  Dutch,  certainly 
irsink  to  the  land  of  | 
ron,  and  "  the  mine- 
he  year  1800,  it  was] 
lia. 

1,  and   it   is  belicveii| 
1  to   safer   and  morel 
the  English, 
stants  to  escape  into  ] 
ers  into  these  forest! 
ch  to  Esopus,  finallv 
wo   fertile  islands  in  I 
ic  main-land  a  stone 
■  of  the  Indian  .vais, 
\  forward  view  leads 
;  and  then,  glancin» ' 
waters  of  the  river, 
whose  tops  seem  tu  ] 

lome  in  the  wilder- ! 
down  the  stream, 
envoys  of  the  Penii 
lown  terrors  of  the 
^ly-established  sctlle- 
his  wheat  along  a 
livatcd  islands,  while 
how  a  town  was 

|l   illustrated  in  the 


lory  of  the  La  Barres.    Three  brothers,  wlio  had  also  fled  from  France  to  find  religious 

Iberty  in  a  new  country,  landed   first   at    Philadelphia,  and,  anxious  to  found  a  home   in 

lie  wilderness,  pursued  their  course  up  the  Delaware.     Believing  that  the  remotest  fron- 

Ser  was  at  the   Forks,  where   Easton   now  stands,  they  wandered   on   still   farther,  until, 

sured  that   they   had   safely   passed   the   very   utmost   verge   of  civilization,  they   built 

hemselves  a  cabin   on   a  hill-side  near  the   Delaware,  a  little  below  the  Gap.      Expert 

arksmen,  they  supplied  themselves   with  game,   while,  with   the  adaptability  of   their 

ition,  they  were  speedily  in  friendly  relations  with  the    Indians,  who  willingly  supplied 

dem  with  corn.     Congratulating  themselves  on    having   reached   the  longed-for   ultima 

Tkulc  of  savage  solitude,  they  lived  for  some  months   in   blissful   ignorance   of  the   fact 

at  Depuy  was  already  firmly  established  on  the  other  side  of  the  mountain ;  and  there 

something  ludi»;rous   in  the   description   of  their   first   annoyance  and   disgust   at   the 

covcry  of  a    neighbor.     They,   however,   submitted   heroically   to   the   misfortune,   and 

Bowed    themselves   white    bread    on    Sundays,  as    a    compensation    for   living    so    near 

cpuy's  mill   that  it   took  only  one  entire  day  to   toil  with   a  bag  of  wheat  over  the 

juntain-road,  wait  till  it  was  ground,  and  then  return. 

The  stalwart  brothers  married  Dutch  wives,  and  founded  families  near  the  Gap, 
bere  they  remained  until  the  country,  in  1808,  became  too  crowded  for  one  of  the 
scendants,  who  in  that  year,  at  the  age  of  eighty-five,  emigrated  to  Ohio  to  find  more 
am.  On  that  new  frontier,  when  he  was  ninety-eight,  his  first  wife  died,  and  the 
idower,  at  the  ripe  age  of  one  hundred,  was  married  again,  and  lived  to  reach  one 
indred  and  five.  A  son  remained  at  the  Gap,  where  he  was  living  a  couple  of  years 
3,  at  the  age  of  one  hundred  and  seven,  and  was  still  frequently  employed  in  the 
ests  in  cutting  wood.  His  brother,  aged  ninety-eight,  and  two  sisters,  above  eighty- 
r,  were  all  strong  and  hearty ;  and,  as  an  instance  of  a  prosperous  early  marriage,  it 
ay  hf  mentioned  that  his  son,  who  at  twenty-one  had  chosen  a  bride  of  thirteen,  was 
11  hale  and  hearty  at  seventy-nine,  his  wife  being  only  seventy-one. 
The  curious  conglomeration  of  American  society  is  well  exemplified  by  the  history 
the  Gap;  for  another  leading  family  was  founded  by  Daniel  Brodhead,  a  Vorkshire- 
in,  captain  of  grenadiers  to  Charles  1 1.,  who  assisted  in  the  capture  of  the  New 
letherlands  from  the  Dutch.  His  son  Daniel,  colloquially  Dan,  invited  the  Moravians 
found  a  mission  at  his  settlement,  which  he  plainly  called  Dansbury,  a  name  which  it 
taincd  until  it  was  rechristf-ned  into  Stroudsburg,  in  honor  of  Colonel  Stroud,  another 
cicnt  resident. 

The  two  grand  mountains  which  form  tne  mighty  chasm  of  the  Gap  have  been 
lingly  named.  The  one  on  the  Pennsylvania  side  is  Minsi,  in  memory  of  the  Indians, 
bo  made  the  Minisink  their  hunting-ground.  The  opposing  more  rugged  and  rocky 
in  New  Jersey  bears  the  name  of  Tammany,  the  chief  of  chiefs,  who  clasped  hands 
St  loinn  covenant  with  William  Penn  under  the  elm-tree  of  Shackamaxon. 


A-'- 


I 


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\  '•  ■ 
1 


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iEl 


V 


96 


PICTURESQUE   AMERICA. 


The  raggedness  of  the  narrow  defile  is  seen  in  the  sketch  of  the  entrance.  The 
bold  face  of  Tammany  exhibits  vast,  frowning  masses  of  naked  rock,  while  the  densely, 
wooded  Minsi  displays  a  thicket  of  evergreen,  with  the  railway-track  skirting  it  down 
by  the  water's  edge.  Mount  Tammany  defies  ascent  except  by  a  vigorous  climber,  but 
the  bold  and  distinct  stratification  shown  in  the  great  rocky  mass  called  the  Indian 
Ladder  adds  to  the  grand  abruptness  of  the  outlines,  and  from  the  narrow  mountain- 
top  is  best  beheld  the  wide,  extended  view  of  the  magnificent  scenery  above  the  Gap. 

Mount  Minsi  owes   its  sweeter  beauty  to  the  lovely  streams  of  water  that  descend 


Distant   View  of  the  Gap, 

its  sides  beneath  a  dense  foliage,  which  veils  the   mossy  pools  and   fern-draped  cascades 
from  the  sunlight  into  the  cool  twilight  that  enraptures  the  summer  tourist. 

Successive  ledges,  or  geological  steps,  mark  the  face  of  Minsi,  and  upon  the  lowest 
of  these,  at  nearly  two  hundred  feet  above  the  river,  stands  the  old  and  well-known 
h©tel— 

"  Kittatlnny  House,  that  on  a  rock  is  founded, 
So,  when  floods  come,  the  folks  won't  be  drownded." 

The  stream  that  issues  beneath  the  hotel,  to  fall  in  a  cascade  into  the  river,  has 
come  down  the  mountain-side  through  a  dark  ravine.  The  densest  bordering  of  rhododen- 
drons fringes  its  sides  with  dark    foliage   and    lovely  blossoms,  while  tall  trees  complete 


THE    DELAWARE    WATER-GAP. 


97 


the  shade.  Far  up  the  ascent  it  takes  its  rise  in  the  Hunter's  Spring,  whose  cool  mar- 
gin has  long  been  known  as  a  welcome  resting-place  to  the  sportsmen  that  sought  deer 
along  the  range.  Under  the  name  of  Caldeno  Creek,  it  continues  its  downward  course 
by  cascade  and  water-fall,  and,  to  those  who  have  once  followed  its  devious  way  through 
the  shaded  ravine,  the  lovely  glens  and  fairy  grottos  must  return  in  dreams,  for  to 
dream-land  does  their  witching,  twilight  beauty  seem  to  belong. 

Along  the  face  of  Minsi,  about   five    hundred   feet  above   the  river,   runs  a  grand 
horizontal    plateau  of   red   shale.     Extending  for  several  miles  along  the  mountain,  it 


I  ! 


1  Bf 


111 
It 


1 1 


Cherry  Valley. 


makes  one  of  its  most  remarkable  features,  and  is  known  as  the  Table  Rock.  Over 
the  slope  of  this  ledge,  at  an  angle  of  forty-five  degrees,  the  lovely  Caldeno  flows  in  a 
charming  succession  of  miniature  falls  or  rapids.  The  rocky  strata  beneath  are  densely 
covered  with  moss,  which,  kept  ever  verdant  by  the  passing  streamlet,  is  still  further  fos- 
tered in  its  growth  by  the  thick  shade  of  towering  trees,  and  gives  the  spot  its  claim  to 
the  name  of  Moss  Cataract. 

Lower  down,  Caldeno,  stilling  its  wavelets  into  temporary  repose,  rests  a  while  in 
the  cool  confines  of  a  rocky  basin.  Shade  even  more  dense  makes  a  twilight  at  mid- 
day, and,  dark,  silent,  and  secure,  a  happy  fancy  has  made  it  Diana's  Bath. 

At  a  still  lower  range,  or  ledge,  the  stream  dashes  at  Caldeno  Falls  over  a  rugged. 


II 


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PICTURESQUE   AMERICA. 


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■g  \ 


rocky  precipice,  in  which  the  sine:ular  regularity  of  the  formation  is  exposed  in  the 
broken  surface  of  the  falling  water. 

One  of  the  loveliest  aspects  of  the  varied  beauties  of  the  Gap  is  under  the  early 
morning  light,  when — 

"  The  mountain-mists  uproUing  let  the  waiting  sunlight  down — " 

dense  clouds  of  vapor  break  the  contours  of  the  peaks,  causing  uncertainty  of  vision,  in- 
creasing  or  diminishing  the  apparent  height,  at  times  making  the  tops  suddenly  appear 
to  bend  forward  as  if  threatening  to  fall,  or  as  suddenly  recede  into  vast  distance,  while 
softly-tinted  masses  of  veiling  vapor  are  wafted  hither  and  thither  by  the  wind  at  its 
own  sweet  will  to  catch  the  morning  splendors,  and  wreathe  in  many-colored  scarfs  around 
rock,  and  crag,  and  lofty  pine.  .' 

Poetry  and  romance  have  familiarized  us  with  the  legend  that,  as  a  forerunner  of 
storm,  Pontius  Pilate  still  appears  above  the  mountain  that  bears  his  name,  and,  bend- 
ing in  cloudy  presence,  wrings  his  hands  in  remorse  for  his  evil  deed.  A  cloud-phenom- 
enon somewhat  similar  occurs  upon  these  heights.  A  narrow  space  between  two  jutting 
peaks  foretells  by  clearness  or  cloud  the  fortunes  of  the  morrow,  but  no  legend  lingers 
around  the  summits,  and  prosaic  Americans  call  it  the  Rain-Hole. 

The  mysterious  ravines  and  wooded  fastnesses  of  Minsi  ever  stimulate  a  thirst  for 
exploration,  and  many  years  ago  some  visitors  in  pleasant  frolic  organized  the  Honor- 
able Company  of  Sappers  and  Miners.  With  a  merry  assumption  of  business,  officers 
were  appointed  and  rules  prescribed ;  half  in  work  and  half  in  play,  the  company  from 
year  to  year  continued  its  explorations,  opening  new  paths,  bridging  streamlets,  strength- 
ening frail  foot-ways,  and  gaining  from  their  exertions  all  the  pleasurable  enjoyments  of 
a  mimic  frontier-life,  with  the  additional  zest  of  knowing  that,  notwithstanding  all  their 
civilizing  efforts,  it  was  still  possible  to  be  lost  upon  Mount  Minsi.  The  annual  festival 
of  the  Sappers  and  Miners  was  always  commemorated  by  the  ascent  of  Minsi  to  unliiil 
the  national  banner  from  the  highest  tree-top,  and,  as  the  flag  caught  the  mountain- 
breeze,  an  answering  shout  rose  from  valley  and  hill-side  from  the  less  valorous  or  less 
light-footed  beholders. 

But,  wild  and  wonderful  as  is  the   interior  of  the  Gap,  it  is  outside  its  limits  that 

the  grand   scenery  of  the  region    must    be  sought.      From  the  mountain-peaks  on  every 

,  hand  open  magnificent  vistas,  and  from  the  river,  both  below  and   above  the  chasm,  the 

views  are  of  marvellous  extent.     Spurs  jutting  out  from  the    main   range  give  endless 

variety  to  the  landscape,  while  hollows,  gaps,  and  ravines,  add  their  countless  beauties. 

Several  miles  above  the  Gap,  the  Delaware  is  joined  by  the  mountain-stream  called 
the  Bushkill.  This  creek  was  long  regarded  as  the  extreme  limit  of  civilization  in  this  di- 
rection, all  beyond  being  a  howling  wilderness  too  often  full  of  howling  savages.  In  this 
neighborhood  were  the  c;opper-mines  which  at   an   early  date  attracted  the  Dutch  settlers 


!       .:l, 


THE   DELAWARE    WATER-GAP. 


99 


from  the  Hudson,  and  induced  them  to  open  the  famous  Mine  Road,  which  became  the 
thoroughfare  from  Albany  to  Philadelphia,  following  the  Esopus  and  Neversink  Creeks 
to  the  Delaware,  crossing  that  river  to  reach  the  western  side  of  the  Blue  Ridge,  and 
passing  near  the  Gap  of  the  Delaware  to  find  a  passage  at  the  Lehigh  Gap,  and  thence 
a  southerly  course  to  Philadelphia 


irii 


'A 


j|i 


l^i^ 


Delaware  Water-Gap,  from  the  South. 


Upon  the  Bushkill  is  one  of  the  most  beautiful  water-falls  of  the  district.  A  chasm 
one  hundred  feet  in  height  is  surrounded  upon  three  sides  by  an  almost  perpendicular 
wall  of  rock,  over  which  the  water  falls.  From  a  point  below,  the  scene  is  grand  in  its 
sombre  magnificence,  as  the  swift  torrent,  striking  midway  upon  a  projecting  ledge  in  the 
rock,  rebounds  in  snowy  foam-flakes,  which,  after  the  momentary  interruption,  continue  to 


1. 


I<X) 


PICTURESQUE   AMERICA. 


ffij- 


fall  into  the  dark  chamber  of  rock  below.  On  the  walls  of  the  chasm,  at  a  level  with 
the  summit  of  the  water-fall,  there  i^  still  another  scene  of  equal  beauty,  as  the  rapid 
stream  emerges  from  the  dark  shades  of  the  forest  to  make  the  sudden  plunge  from 
the  precipice.         >  '  "  :      '^  7  Wv 

Another  small  mountain-torrent  near  by  frets  its  way  through  a  tortuous  channel  of 
dark  fossiliferous  limestone,  until,  in  a  sheet  of  foam,  it  leaps  over  a  precipice  in  a 
shower  of  dazzling  whiteness,  which  some  unpoetic  beholder  compared  to— buttermilit 
Submissively  has  the  uncouth  misnomer  been  accepted,  and  the  singularly  beautiliil 
cascade  still  bears  the  name  of  Buttermilk  Falls.  Upon  the  same  stream  the  Mar- 
shall Falls  deserve  special  note  for  their  picturesqueness.  The  dark  surrounding  rock  is 
crowded  with  fossil  impressions,  which  fill  the  stone  with  irregular  fissures ;  through  this 
ledge  the  waters  have  torn  and  gnawed  their  way  down  a  chasm  fifty  feet  in  depth,  leav- 
ing a  veil  of  overhanging  rock  in  front,  through  which  the  spectator  gazes  at  the  gloomy 
cataract  as  through  a  curtained  casement.       -1  </.'      ;    '  :' v 

That  the  Minisink  was  a  favorite  abode  of  the  red-men  is  proved  at  almost  eveiy 
step.  The  plough  turns  up  innumerable  quantities  of  spear-heads  and  arrow-points,  as 
well  as  hammers,  axes,  and  tomahawks  of  stone,  and  rude  cutting  instruments  fashioned* 
out  of  flint ;  stone  mortars  and  pestles  have  also  been  found,  with  bowls  and  jars  of 
earthenware. 

Upon  commanding  elevations,  wher-?  small  plateaus  permit  at  once  a  kind  of  seclu- 
sion as  well  as  an  extensive  outlook  over  the  mountains  and  the  river,  there  are  many 
Indian  burial-grounds,  always  chosen  for  the  beauty  of  the  position.  In  the  graves  al- 
most invariably  are  found  articles  of  per  -unal  adornment,  with  warlike  weapons,  and  fre- 
quently vessels  of  clay.  Glass  beads,  bcUf,,  and  trinkets  of  metal,  are  supposed  to  prove 
some  intercourse  with  the  white  race,  ?>ut  beads  of  bone,  bowls  of  baked  earthenware 
composed  of  pounded  shell  and  clay,  and  the  ruder  instruments  made  out  of  stone,  mark 
Indian  workmanship,  and  may  belong  to  more  remote  generations. 

As  one  of  the  wonders  of  the  Gap,  must  be  counted  the  marvellous  lake  upon 
Tammany — a  lake  so  singular  that  popular  superstition  has  been  tempted  to  add  a  final 
touch  to  its  surpassing  strangeness,  and  declare  that  it  lias  no  bottom.  As  if  in  quaint 
climax  to  her  wild  work.  Nature,  after  riving  the  mountain  to  its  very  base,  here  places 
beside  the  rude  chasm,  on  the  very  apex  of  the  lofty  peak,  a  peaceful  lake.  Masses  of 
bare  gray  sandstone  stand  about  its  margin,  and  within  the  stem  encirclement  the  pure 
water  reflects  alone  the  swift-darting  birds  or  the  slowly-moving  clouds,  for  naught  else 
comes  between  it  and  the  sky.  In  this  unbroken  solitude,  beside  the  lonely  lake,  is  a 
single  Indian  grave  in  a  narrow  cleft  of  rock.  On  a  lower  level,  near  at  hand,  many 
graves  were  gathered  into  one  place  of  sepulture,  as  if  to  make  the  loneliness  of  this 
solitary  tomb  even  more  marvellous;  and  fanciful  conjecture  can  but  gather  round  the 
grave  to  ascribe  to  its  tenant  some  strange  history,  and  im;^ine  him  to  be  a  king  who 


I  h 


i- 


I02 


PICTURESQUE  AMERICA. 


I  I 


disdained  companionship  in  death  with  those  he  had  ruled  when  living ;  or  a  poet  who 
sought  a  resting-place  beneath  the  clouds,  or  a  prophet  entombed  by  his  devout  follow- 
ers beneath  the  skies  in  which  he  had  beheld  visions. 

Throughout  the  whole  Minisink  single  bodies  are  occasionally  exhumed  by  the 
plough,  or  washed  out  from  the  river-banks,  but  it  has  been  conjectured  that  these 
have  been  enemies,  or  those  whose  fate  was  unknown  or  not  regarded,  for  the  numerous 
burial-grounds  attest  that  even  the  wild  wanderer  of  the  forest  craved  to  find  his  last 
resting-place  in  companionship  with  his  kind.  Ir  these  ancient  cities  of  the  dead  each 
tenement  is  a  low  mound  surrounded  by  a  clearly-marked  trench,  and  frequently  several 
mounds  are  connected  into  a  single  group  by  a  ditch  encircling  the  whole,  as  if  to  ex- 
hibit some  bond  of  clan  or  kindred.  In  the  graves  that  have  been  examined  in  the  pla- 
teaus  consisting  of  coarse  gravel  and  clay,  the  bodies  are  found  embedded  in  the  river- 
sand,  which  must  necessarily  have  been  carried  a  considerable  distance  expressly  for  the 
purpose. 

Little  but  their  graves  remains  of  the  original  people  that  once  congregated  into 
the  valleys  of  the  Minisink,  and  hunted  upon  its  hills,  and  little  legendary  lore  has  been 
preserved.  The  peaceful  relations  between  the  earlier  colonists  and  the  Indians  were  in- 
terrupted, and  a  long,  bitter,  and  bloody  war  for  the  possession  of  the  land  soon  swept 
away  every  friendly  recollection,  and  the  settlers  learned  to  blot  out  the  very  memory  of 
their  antagonists,  and  erase  every  trace  of  that  occupation  which  had  been  so  fiercely 
contested. 

The  last  lingerer  of  the  primitive  people  was  Tat^imy,  veritably  the  last  of  tlie  Mo- 
hicans. He  had  long  served  as  interpreter  to  the  travelling  Moravian  ministers,  and  his 
sympathies  bound  him  so  closely  to  the  region  of  the  Minisink  that  he  voluntarily  re- 
mained behind  when  his  tribe  moved  to  the  West.  An  iconoclastic  generation  has  de- 
graded the  name  of  his  lonely  home  into  the  wretched  diminutive  of  Tat's  Gap.  In  thi« 
wild  spot  he  remained,  and  a  touching  picture  is  drawn  of  the  solitary  man  sittinj;  alone 
at  the  door  of  his  wigwam,  hunting  alone  upon  the  mountain,  singing  in  the  forest 
wilds  the  songs  of  his  departed  nation,  and  striving  feebly  to  preserve  the  habits  of  hi> 
old  life  amid  the  encroachments  of  civilization.  At  the  commencement  of  the  Revolii 
tionary  War  bands  of  hostile  Indians  frequently  made  inroads  into  the  frontier  settle- 
ments, and  poor  T.itamy  became  a  special  object  of  their  hatred.  Fears  for  his  safclv 
were  felt  by  the  white  friends  to  whom  he  had  adhered  with  such  singular  faitlifulmsv 
and  he  was  induced  to  abandon  his  dangerous  solitude.  Land  was  provided  for  him  in 
a  saft.   region  near  Depuy's,  and  there  he  continued  until  his  death. 

The  story  of  the  relations  between  the  aboriginal  races  of  America  and  their  Furo- 
pean  conquerors  has  alway.^  Ix-'en  a  sad  one,  and  it  is  especially  so  in  the  land  of  the 
Minisink.  Here  a  singularly  mild  and  cultivated  tribe,  the  Lenni  -  I^nape,  welconud  the 
early  settlers  with   unusual   kindness,  a   feeling  which  seems  to  have   been   quite  iieartilv 


THE   DELAWARE    WATER-GAP. 


103 


;  reciprocated  by  the  French  and  Dutch.  This  friendly  intercourse  was  preserved  unbroken 
}  for  a  long  period,  and  promised  to  remain  so,  when  it  was  utterly  destroyed  by  the  inci- 
I dents  of  the  disastrous  "Walk"  of  the  year  1737. 

The  Indians  had  apparently  been  perfectly  satisfied  with  the  terms  of  the  purchases 

[made  by  William  Penn.     According  to   the  native  custom,  the  territory  sold  was  always 

[measured   by  distances  to   be  walked  within  specified   times.     In   the   first  walk,  William 

Penn  liad  taken  part  in  person,  and  the  affair  had  been  conducted  in  true  Indian  fashion, 

[the  walkers  loitering,  resting,  or  smoking,  by  the  way.     But   the  successors  of  Penn  had 

determined  upon  a  different  policy,  and  prepared  a  scheme  for  driving  a  sharp  bargaia 

The  boundaries  of  the  territory  were  to  be  determined  by  the  point  reached  by 
'  walking  for  a  day  and  a  half  from  a  certain  chestnut-tree  at  Wrightstown  Meeting- 
'  house,  and  the  proprietors  were  undoubtedly  determined  to  make,  what  in  modem  phrase 
[is  termed,  a  "good  thing  of  it." 

Of  the  incidents  of  the  famous  "  Walk "  many  accounts   have   been  given,  differing 

[slightly  in   details,  but  agreeing  in    the   important    facts.     Offers  were  published   in   the 

public  papers,  promising  five  hundred  acres  of  land  anywhere  within  the  territory  to  be 

measured,  with  five  pounds  in  money,  to  the  person  who  would  walk  the  farthest  in  the 

(specified  time. 

By  the  terms  of  the  agreement,  the  governor  was  to  select  three  persons  for  the  task, 
[and  the  Indians  to  furn'sh  a  like  number  from  their  own  nation.  The  men  engaged,  as 
[paiticularly  fitted  for  the  purpose  on  the  part  of  the  province,  were  Edward  Marshall, 
[James  Vatcs,  and   Solomon  Jennings. 

Also,  according  to  Indian  usage,  the  measurement  was  to  be  decided  when  the 
[days  and  nights  were  equal,  marking  precisely  twelve  hours  between  sunrise  and  sunset. 
iTIierefore,  attended  by  a  large  number  of  curious  spectators,  belonging  to  both  of  the 
I  interest  eil  parties,  the  six  walkers  met  before   sunrise  on  the  20th  of  September. 

They  stood  together,  each  resting  one  hand  upon  the  tree  awaiting  the  signal,  and 
jthen,  just  as  the  sun  appeared  upon  the  horizon,  started  upon  the  unfortunate  trial  of 
[speed. 

By  established   custom,  a  day's   walk   was,  with   the    Indians,  a   well-ascertained   dis- 
Itanee,  and  the  day  and  a  half  from  Wrightstown  was  expected  by  them  to  end   at  the 
Blue  Uidge,  the  savages  never  intending,  or  even  supposing,  that  the   boundaries  of  the 
jpurehase  could  by  any  possibility  intrude  into,  much   less  include,  their  favorite  hunting- 
grounds  of  the   Mmisink. 

The  previous  arrangements  had,  however,  been  made  with  care ;  the  direction  of  the 
^muu   liad  l)een  distinctly  marked,  and  a  line  run  to  the  greatest    advantage  of  the  pur- 
sers.    That   no  time  should   lie    lost,  relays  of  horsemen   attended   the  walkers  with 
pt|""rs,  and  refreshments  awaited  them  at  suitable  places  along  the  route. 

Man  hall  fulfilled  his  part  o*  the  contract,  walking  with  great  rapidity  and  without 


i  J 


i  ^ 


104 


PICTURESQUE   AMERICA. 


1> 


Moil  Cataract. 


pause.     This   infringement,   at   least  of 
the  spirit   of  the  bargain,  provoked  ig.  I 
cessant  complaints  and  protests  from  i| 
the   Indians,  not    only    those   wi>o  |» 
longed    to    the    party,    but  those  wki 
were  assembled    as  spectators,  the  sn. 
ages  exclaiming  again  and  again,  in  ag. 
gry  expostulation:    "No    sit  down  to  I 
smoKe — no  shoot  squirrel;  but  /»«, /m;] 
/««,  all  day!" 

Before  the  first  day  endc^  onecfj 
the  white  men  and  two  of  \\\ 
had  given  out;  and  when,  before  sunset,] 
Marshall  and  Yates  reached  the  Bht 
Ridge,  they  met  there  assembled  agiqi] 
number  of  the  savages  gathered  to  ni 
ness  the  expected  ratification  of  tkl 
boundary.  When  it  was  discovered  thtl 
noi  even  thf  first  day's  walk  was  yet  accomplished,  the  manifestation  of  anger  becamj 
general ;  the  Ir.dians  loudly  proclaiming  the  whole  affair  a  cheat,  by  which  all  the  good 
land  would  be   taken    from  them,  indignantly  refusing  their   assent   to  the   purchase,  audi 

even  proposing  that,  if  necessary,  eveijj 
Indian  would  come  in  the  spring-tin  I 
with  a  buckskin  in  his  hand  and  bii^i 
the  land  back  again. 

Ly  sunset  Marshall  and  Vatcs  y| 
passed  the  mountains,  and  started  aM 
at  sunrise  the  ne.xt  day;  but  Yates  som 
turned  feint  and  fell  from  exhaustml 
while  Marshall  pursued  his  course,  dl 
at  noon  reached  the  Pocono  Mountul 
having  walked  about  eighty -six  mitaj 
according  to  the  estimation  made  *.t 
the  time. 

The  indignant  Indians  inimcdiateli| 

inaugurated  a  systematic  retaliation,  dl 

the  purchasers,  who  began  to  inoveupoti 

the  land  in  considerable  numlnrs, foundl 

Dtaqi'i  Hath  the  savages  arrayed   in   armed  hostilit?! 


THE   DELAWARE    WATER-GAP. 


105 


pc  supplies 
ilcscribcd 


The  warfare  in  this  case  did  not  consist  of  the 
usual  occasional  skirmishing  and  depredations  from 
small  bands  of  drunken  savages  accidentally 
aioused  to  open  enmity,  but  was  much  more  for- 
midable, as  being  a  part  of  a  determined  attempt 
of  the  Indians  to  regain  the  lost  territory,  which 
they  believed  had  been  taken  by  fraud,  and  which 
they  never  relinquished  until  the  year  1764. 

The  condition  of  the  district  may  be  inferred 
from  the  fact  that,  in  1740,  the  settlers  near  the 
Gap  demanded  armed  assistance  from  the  provin- 
cial government,  and  again  in  1763  presented  a 
petition,  signed  by  the  prominent  residents,  pray- 
ing for  help,  as  "  we  lie  entirely  open  to  the  mercy 
of  those  barbarous,  savage  Indians."  The  effect  of 
the  continuous  conflict  upon  the  agriculture  of  the 
region  may  be  gathered  from  the  order  given  in 
1740,  by  Nicholas  Depuy,  upon  the  treasurer  of 
Bucks  County,  for  the  payment  of  the  bounty 
upon  sixteen  wolves,  all  killed  by  the  same  man. 

The  struggle  was  at  the  fiercest  from  1752 
to  1 759,  the  war-froni  being  considered  as  extend-  ^ 
ing  from  Bethlehem  to  Bushkill,  and  the  danger 
being  so  imminent  that  in  many  cases  the  farmers 
abandoned  their  homes  and  their  unharvestcd 
crops,  to  be  burnt  by  the  Indians ;  while  those 
residing  below  the  Blue  Kidge  dimanded  with 
importunity  that  the  mountains  should  be  made 
the  frontier,  and  all  the  region  beyond  abandoned 
without  any  attempt  cither  at  defence  or  occu- 
pation, 'j 

Dcpuy's  house,  which  had  always  been  re- 
garded as  a  stronghold,  seems  to  have  been 
strengthened  into  a  sort  of  forress,  surrounded 
by  1  stockade,  with  a  swivel-gun  mounted  at  each 
comer.  When  times  of  special  danger  required  a 
call  for  government  assistance,  Depuy  furnished 
for  the  men  sent  to  him;  and  in  an  oflficcr's  report,  in  1758,  the  garrison 
as  consisting  of  twenty-two  men,  with  eight  months'  provisions. 

14 


11* 


Mom  Grotto. 


io6 


PICTURESQUE   AMERICA. 


^ 


In  the  year  1756  the  condition  of  affairs  had  become  so  terrible  that  a  laiw 
number  of  farmers  were  thoroughly  panic-stricken,  and  threatened  to  abandon  the  dis. 
trict  entirely  to  the  Indians.  In  this  emergency,  Benjamin  Franklin  was  sent  by  Gov- 
ernor Morgan  to  Bethlehem,  and  succeeded  in  forming  a  line  of  defence  from  the  Lehigh 
to  Bushkill.  At  his  instance,  Governor  Morgan  soon  afterward  visited  the  distressed 
district  in  person,  and  established  a  line  of  block-houses  from  Shamokin,  on  the  Susque- 
hanna,  to  the  ever-uttermost  Bushkill. 

These  primitive  fortifications  consisted  merely  of  a  wall  of  defence,  made  of  stakes  1 
driven  into  the  ground  and  banked  up  with  earth ;  while  within  the  enclosure  a  lo 
was  usually  erected  in  each  comer,  to  serve  as  barracks,  and  also  as  shelter  for  neigh.  1 
boring  families,  when  driven  to  seek  protection  from  the  savage  enemy. 

The  condition  of  society  pioduced  by  these  years  of  warfare  was,  of  course,  peculiar.  I 
While  many  of  the  men,  whr   daily  lived  in   fear  of  attack,  were  educated  into  all  tht 
virtue,  strength,   and   independence,   that   spring  from  such    experience,   others   became,  | 
under    the    same    influences,  mere    outlaws ;    antl  it  is  not  extraordinary  that,  wlien  1 
bounty  upon  scalps  was  raised,  there  were  men  who  sought  the  scalps  of  the  savages! 
in  precisely  the  same  spirit  that  they  had  sought  those  of  the  wolves,  and  who,  with 
the  trained  eye  of  the  sportsman,  detected  the  thread  of  smoke  rising  from  the  wigwam 
by  day,  or  the   firelight   by  night,  in  order  to  crush  the  inmates  as  if  they  were  but] 
obnoxious  reptiles. 

The  Indian  hero  of  this  war  was  the  celebrated   Delaware  chieftain,  variously  calld  I 
•  Tadcuskund  or  Teedyuscung.      He  had  long  been  favorably  known  among  the  whites  as 
Honest  John,  and  had  even  been  baptized  by  the  Moravians  as  Gideon;   but  his  apol* 
gists  were  fain  to  urge  that  a  certain   Christian  "walk"  and  conversation  was  enouirfi 
to  make  him  forget  his  baptism,  and  render  him  a  ready  listener  to  the  French,  or  ant  | 
other  enemies  of  the  settlements. 

It  was  this  chief  who,  in  1756,  at  Easton,  as  the  representative  of  four  Indian  1*1 
tions,  boldly  declared,  as  he  stamped  his  foot  upon  the  earth:  "My  people  have  not  far  to 
go  for  the  reasons  for  war.  The  very  ground  upon  which  I  stamp  was  my  lanu  andnirl 
inheritance,  and  has  been  taken  from  me  by  fraud — yes,  for  it  is  fraud  when  one  nun  I 
buys  lands  of  us,  and  takes  a  deed  of  it,  and  dies — and  then  his  children  mal;e  a  falsel 
deed  like  the  true  one,  and  put  our  Indian  names  to  it,  and  take  from  us  what  »t| 
never  sold.  This  is  fraud !  It  is  fraud,  too,  when  one  king  has  land  beyond  the  rira, 
and  another  king  has  land  on  this  side,  both  bounded  by  rivers,  mountains,  and  sprinpl 
that  CttPnot  be  moved,  and  those  greedy  for  lands  buy  of  one  king  what  belongs  to  tb(| 
other.    This,  too,  is  fraud  I "  ,         -  .    . 

Teedyuscung,  at  another  time,  announcing  himself  as  the  king  of  ten  nations,  ptfrj 
scnted  to  Governor  Morris  four  strings  of  wampum,  each  delivered  with  a  sepanttj 
speech :  "  One,  to  brush  the  thorns  from  the  Governor's  Legs ;  another,  to  Rub  the  I 


THE   DELAWARE    WATER-GAR 


107 


Caldeno  I  ul!«. 


out  of  the  Governor's  Eyes,  to  help  him 
to  see  clearly;  another,  to  Open  the 
Governor's  Ears,  that  he  might  listen 
Patiently;  and  the  fourth,  to  clear  the 
Governor's  Throat,  that  he  might  speak 
plainly." 

The  Delaware  Water-Gap  itself  was 
long  a  forbidding  chasm,  dreaded  and 
avoided  by  travellers,  unless  chance  or 
necessity  compelled  them  to  thread  the 
defile  by  the  Indian  trail,  which  found 
a  devious  and  dangerous  way  among 
huge  rocks  piled  up  in  Nature's  ma- 
sonry ;  but  the  pass  at  last  found  an 
admiring  explorer. 

Antoine  Dutot,  a  wealthy  planter  of 
Santo  Domingo,  had  been  compelled  to 
flee  for  his  life  during  the  insurrection 
[in  that  island.  He  escaped  to  Philadelphia,  where  he  renewed  his  old  acquaintance 
[with  Stephen  Girard,  and  by  his  advice  visited  the  upper  portion  of  the  Delaware 
[River.    The  beauty  of  the  scenery  of  the  Gap  excited  him  to  the  utmost  enthusiasm, 

and  he  became  the  eager  purchaser  of 
lands  hitherto  despised  as  barren  and 
valueless,  upon  part  of  which  the  Kit- 
tatinny  House  now  stands.  He  firmly 
believed  that  the  Gap  was  destined  to 
become  the  seat  of  a  great  city,  as  a 
principal  depot  of  the  immense  future 
commerce  of  the  river.  To  meet  this 
coming  want,  he  biiilt  a  village,  called 
||y^       ^^^^^^^^^^^H       Dutotsville,  from  which   even   his  name 

has  now  departed,  and  which  contains, 
as  the  only  vestige  of  his  hope-inspired 
labors,  the  market-square  devoted  by  him 
to  public  use.  The  wagon-road  through 
the  Gap,  which  was  constructed  in  the 
year  1800,  passed  by  his  property,  and 
he  soon  after  obtained  a  charter  for  a 
Buihuu  Faiii.  toU-road  upon  the  track  now  occupied 


•^  '.v^>^ 


m 

"■^. 

1 

i 

a  is  Jill 


io8 


PICTURESQUE   AMERICA. 


Ji 


,  > 


ml  ■■' 


by  the  railway.  This  road  was  never  remunerative,  and  the  toll-gate  was  a  mere  vexa- 
tion,  where  he  would  stand  with  courteous  smile  and  polite  bow,  saying,  in  very  broken 
speech,  "Von  leetle  toll,"  which  the  mischievous  youth  of  the  neighborhood  delighted 
in  pretending  to  understand  as  a  mere  polite  salutation,  to  which  they  responded  with 
a  deep  bow  and  polite  "Good-day,"  as  they  continued  on  their  way. 

Despite  all  misfortunes,  the  hopeful  Frenchman  maintained  his  faith  in  the  future  of 
the  home  of  his  adoption.  A  gentleman  of  education  and  refinement,  animated,  romantic, 
and  polite,  he,  in  his  gay  old  age,  seemed  oddly  at  variance  with  his  rugged  surround- 
ings, as,  in  broadcloth,  silk  stockings,  ruffles,  and  silver  knee-buckles,  he  preservec  the 
courteous  deportment  of  the  days  when  he  presided  over  his  wealthy  West-Indian  p.'an- 
tation.  Some  years  before  his  death,  he  purchased  a  cannon  and  a  great  bell,  whici. 
were  ordered  in  his  will  to  be  used  to  mark  the  fulfilment  of  his  long-reiterated 
prophecies.  The  bell,  hung  in  a  belfry  upon  his  house,  was  to  ring  a  triumphant 
peal,  and  the  cannon,  from  his  prescribed  grave  upon  Sunset  Hill,  was  to  answer  in 
response  of  glorification  at  the  moment  that  the  first  steamboat  should  touch  the  land- 
ing, or  the  first  locomotive  pass  through  the  Gap.  But  the  Frenchman  had  been  lying 
in  his  solitary  grave  for  fifteen  years  before  the  locomotive  steamed  through  the  chasm 
beneath  him,  his  cannon  had  exploded  long  before  in  commemorating  a  Fourth  of  July, 
and  his  bell  had  been  put  to  service  over  a  school-house  in  Stroudsburg,  where  it  sura- 
moned  the  youth  who  were  to  reap  the  benefits  of  the  future  that  had  beamed  so 
brightly  upon  his  imagination. 


11 


lii 


MAUCH    CHUNK. 


MAUCH  CHUNK,  doubt- 
less the  most  truly  pict- 
uresque town  in  the   Union,  is 
situated    in    the   very    heart    of 
tlie  Pennsylvania  coal-region.    Its 
name,  in  the  original  Indian  lan- 
guage  from   which    it    is    derived, 
means  "  Bear  Mountain."      It   lies 
in    a    narrow   gorge    between   and 
;imong   high   hills,   its    foot,   as    it 
were,    resting    on    the    picturesque 
little   Lehigh   River,  and   its  body 
stretching    up    the    clefts     of     the 
mountains.      It    is    so    compacted 
among  the  hills  that  its  houses  im- 
|)iiigc  upon   its  one  narrow  street, 
and    stand   backed  up  against  the 
rising   ground,  with   no   space    for     -.  •. 
frardcns    except   what    the    owners 
can  manage  to  snatch  from  the  hill-side 
above  their   heads.     As   proof  of  what 
can   be    done  in   a   narrow   space,   this 


i\ 


il 


ii 


i    ' 


lii 


iftl 


mmm 


no 


PICTURESQUE   AMERICA, 


l€«.1 


quaint  and  really  Swiss-like  village  affords  a  capital  example.  In  one  portion,  just  where 
the  turbulent  Lehigh  sweeps  around,  as  if  to  give  the  town  a  salute,  and  then  rushes 
merrily  off  again,  one  sees  the  river,  a  canal,  two  railways,  a  road,  and  a  street,  packed 
in  a  space  scarcely  more  than  a  stone's-throw  wide — all  of  which  the  reader  can  note 
without  stirring  from  his  easy-chair,  by  a  glance  at  Mr.  Fenn's  larger  drawings. 

There  is  a  great  deal  in  knowing  how  to  find  the  picturesque,  and  Mr.  Fenn,  in  his 
large  drawings,  has  selected  points  of  view  that  present  the  hills  and  the  town  in  their 
best  aspect.  The  first  of  these  views  is  taken  'rom  the  road  that  runs  along  the  side  of 
the  high  hill  just  below  the  town.  In  the  second  illustration,  one  can  discern  the  road, 
faintly  marked,  ascending  obliquely  the  distant  hill.  From  this  road  the  picture  ^[ives  just 
a  glimpse  of  the  receding  town  to  the  left ;  shows  in  the  distance  Mount  Pisgah,  which 
is  not  a  volcano,  notwithstanding  the  smoke  that  seems  to  issue  from  its  apex;  and 
gathers  at  the  feet  of  the  spectator  hurrying  river,  busy  canal,  railways,  and  highway,  as 
they  lie  crowded  between  the  steep  hills.  Here  there  is  always  the  stir  of  a  great 
traffic.  Ceaselessly  day  and  night  the  long,  black  coal-trains  come  winding  round  the 
base  of  the  hills,  like  so  many  hu  ^e  anacondas,  often  with  both  head  and  tail  lost  to 
the  eye,  the  locomotive  reaching  ott  of  sight  before  the  last  car  comes  swinging  round 
the  curve.  These  trains  are  of  marvellous  length,  sometimes,  when  returning  empty, 
numbering  over  two  hundred  cars.  So  continuous  is  their  coming  and  going,  sweeping 
now  around  the  foot  of  the  hill  opposite,  and  now  around  the  base  of  the  hill  on  which 
we  stand,  that  usually  several  trains  are  visible  at  the  same  time ;  and  rarely  at  any  mo- 
ment is  the  whistle  or  the  puff  of  the  locomotive  silent.  The  writer's  curiosity  prompted 
him  to  keep  a  record  of  passing  trains  for  an  hour,  and  he  found  they  averaged  one  io 
every  two  minutes.  These  trains  are  almost  exclusively  employed  in  freighting  coal ;  and 
this  immense  traffic  in  black  diamonds  becomes  still  more  surprising  when  it  is  remem- 
bered that,  in  addition  to  the  trains,  canal-boats  similarly  freighted  ceaselessly  pass  the 
town  with  the  regularity,  order,  and  succession  of  a  procession.  It  is  a  relief  to  have  le- 
course  to  figures,  and  to  learn  that  one  of  the  railways  alone  carries  eighteen  thousand 
tons  of  coal  weekly.  Treble  this,  and  the  aggregate  sent  from  or  passing  this  place  is 
probably  approximated.  Up  here  on  the  hill-side  the  scene  before  us  is  certainly  novel 
and  picturesque.  We  may  watch  the  stirring  traffic,  the  quiet  canal,  the  swift  Lehigh- 
sometimes  only  the  small  thread  of  a  river  barely  covering  its  rocky  bed,  but  occasion- 
ally a  roaring  flood  bringing  ruins  upon  its  surface  and  carrying  ruin  before  it— or  w 
may  study  the  tints  and  forms  of  the  receding  hills,  or  note  a  singular  locomotion  far 
up  on  the  sides  of  the  distant  Mount  Pisgah. 

On  the  highest  part  of  this  mountain  are  two  tall  chimneys,  ascending  to  which  is 
the  line  of  a  railway.  The  chimneys  and  the  building  thereto  give  note  of  a  stationaiy 
engine  at  this  crowning  apex  of  the  height,  and  the  line  up  the  mountain-side  shows  us 
where  the  famous  Mount-Pisgah   inclined   plane   ascends   to  its     jp.     The  line  crossing 


U^^l&^a^-MUL 


MAUCH   CHUNK. 


Ill 


the  hill  half-way  down,  and  just  below  Upper  Mauch  Chunk,  marks  the  course  ot  the 
Gravity  Railway,  one  of  the  marvels  of  the  place.  If  the  reader  pleases,  we  will  de- 
scend our  mountain-highway,  picturesque  and  beautiful  every  step  of  it,  with  beetling 
cliffs  above  and  precipitous  reaches  below,  and  prepare  for  an  odd  sort  of  journey  to  the 
top  of  Mount  Pisgah,  and,  by  the  Gravity  Road,  to  the  coal-mines  beyond.  But,  before 
we  proceed,  let  us  understand  where  we  are  going  and  what  we  shall  see  a  little  better 
by  coisulting  a  brief  page  of  history  and  a  fiew  facts  of  description. 

The  mines  which  supply  the  principal  traffic  of  Mauch  Chunk  are  situated  nine 
miles  back  from  the  river,  on  Sharp  and  Black  Mountains,  and  in  Panther-Creek  Val- 
ley, lying  between.  The  first  anthracite  coal  was  discovered  on  Sharp  Mountain,  some- 
times known  as  Summit  Hill,  by  a  hunter  named  Ginter,  in  1791.  The  hard  anthra- 
cite,  however,  was  at  first  called  "  black-stone,"  and  its  combustible  quality  denied.  Ex- 
periments with  it  were  made  in  Philadelphia,  and  it  was  gravely  asserted  that  this  hard, 
rocky  substance,  which  resembled  coal,  only  served  to  put  the  fire  out!  Experiments, 
iiowever,  at  a  later  date,  must  have  satisfied  those  concerned  that  anthracite  coal,  if 
slower  to  ignite  than  bituminous,  yet  possesses  decided  combustible  qualities,  for  com- 
panies were  formed  to  work  the  mines  on  Sharp  Mountain.  It  was  not,  however,  until 
1820  that  shipments  became  at  all  regular  or  noteworthy.  Coal  was  brought  from  the 
mines,  slowly  and  wearisomely,  by  wagons,  until  1827,  when  a  track  was  constructed, 
with  a  falling  grade,  from  Summit  Hill  to  the  Lehigh,  by  which  cars  were  run  down  by 
their  own  gravity — hence  the  name  Gravity  Road.  The  cars  were  drawn  back  by  mules, 
which,  of  course,  had  to  be  sent  down  on  cars  with  each  train.  This  method  continued 
for  a  long  time ;  but  the  traffic  at  last  so  increased  that  a  more  expeditious  return  of 
the  cars  to  the  mines  was  needed,  and  in  1844  the  plan  of  a  back-track  was  arranged. 
An  inclined  plane  was  laid  to  the  top  of  Mount  Pisgah,  up  which  the  empty  cars 
were  elevated  by  means  of  a  stationary  engine ;  the  track,  then,  by  a  downward  grade, 
the  cars  moving  by  force  of  their  own  weight,  reached  the  foot  of  Mount  Jefferson, 
up  which  they  ascended  by  another  plane — the  power  a  stationary  engine — and  then, 
by  another  downward  grade,  reached  summit  Hill.  From  Summit  Hill  the  cars  de- 
scended to  the  mines  in  the  valley,  by  what  was  called  the  Switch-back,  a  term  now 
often  given  to  the  entire  road,  but  which  at  present  has  no  correct  application  to  any 
part  of  it.  The  Switch-back  was  a  means  of  descending  the  side  of  the  mountain  by 
lines  such  as  we  familiarly  call  zigzag.  The  car  ran  swiftly  along  the  side  of  the  hill 
on  a  falling  grade  until  reaching  the  terminus  of  the  track,  where  its  momentum  car- 
ried it  up  an  artificial  hillock  until  its  speed  was  arrested.  Here  it  was  switched  upon 
another  track,  and  it  rushed  back  again  along  the  side  of  the  hill  upon  a  falling  grade 
until,  reaching  another  terminus,  it  was  once  more  switched  back  upon  a  thin!  track,  and 
so  on  by  a  series  of  inclined  planes  the  valley  was  reached.  Great  speed  was  attained 
on  the  Switch-back,  the  rate  often  reaching  sixty  miles  an  hour,  and  a   pleasure-car  was 


R.f 


■•    Ji-    :i! 


':',i 


MAUCH    CHUNK    AND    MOUNT   PISOAH. 


I  ^TuZ-j; i_. 


MAUCH    CHUNK,    FROM    FOOT    OF    MOUNT    PISCAH. 
IS 


!  ,  1 


1v-k' 


114 


PICTURESQUE   AMERICA. 


:i  ■■ :' 


■)    ;  ! .   ■;  a 


..Vi!  i^-\ 


.■ir  i 


attached  at  certain  hours  for  visitors.  This  is  all  changed  now,  the  cars  reaching  the 
valley  by  a  longer  but  circuitous  route.  The  cars  are  returned  to  Summit  Hill  by 
means  of  inclined  planes  and  stationary  engines ;  and  from  the  Summit  to  the  Lehigli, 
a  distance  cf  nine  miles,  the  gravity-impelled  cars  dash  at  a  rapid  rate  with  their  spoils  | 
from  the  heart  of  the  mountain. 

In  the   first  of  our  larger  illustrations,  the  Mount-Pisgah  inclined  plane  and  apor] 
tion  of  the  Gravity  Road,  as  already  mentioned,  may  be  seen.    The  cars  which  we  ob- 
serve on  the  grade   may  be   discovered  at  their  terminus   in  the  engraving  given  below, 
Here   they  rattle  down   into    huge   coal-boxes,   into  which    their   contents  are  dumped 


Canal-boats  receiving  Coal. 

and  shot  into  the  waiting  canal-boats,  which  are  always  gathered  here  by  hundreds  in  pict 
uresque  confusion.  '         - 

After  this  brief  glance  at   the  origin  and  use  of  this   singular  road,  we  may  under] 
take  with  greater  satisfaction  a  jaunt  over  its  long  circuit  of  twenty-five  miles. 

An    omnibus,   at  stated   hours,   conveys    the  curious  passengers  from   the   Mansion  I 
House  to  the  foot  of  the  inclined  plane.      It   rattles  through  the  town's  single  street] 
diverges  into  the  road  that  ascends  the  hill,  and,  after  a  journey  that  the   impatient  traV' 
eller  imagines  must  have  already  gotten  him  to  the  top,  draws  up  at  the  foot  of  the  fj  I 
mous  plane,  which,  if  our  description  has  not  adequately  depicted   to  the   mind's-eye  of 
the    reader,   the    initial    illustration  will    bring    before    him    accurately   and    clearly   M 


MAUCH    CHUNK. 


"5 


Imay  be  nientiontJ   here  that  the  length 

[of   this  plane    is    twenty -three   hundred 

[and  twenty-two  feet,  and  its  elevation  six 
hundred  and  sixty-four  feet.  At  its  foot 
we  .find  a  very  small  passenger-car— a  di- 
minutive,  undergrown   little    vehicle,    de- 

i  signed  to   hold  ten  passengers— in  which 

[we  may  enter.    The  plane  appears,  when 

(standing  at  its  foot,  to  reach  almost  per- 
pendicularly up  into  the  air;   and  when 

I  at  last  the  ascent  begins,  one  feels  as  if 
he  were  drawn  up  into  the  clouds,  and 
naturally  commences  to  speculate  with 
what  terrible  swiftness  the  car  would 
shoot  down  the  plane  if  it  should  get 
loose.  The  little  hand-book  for  travel- 
lers, however,  which  every  inquiring  and 
right-minded  passenger  is  sure  to  possess, 
gives  assurance  that  this  is  impossible. 
Behind  the  miniature  carriage  is  what  is 
called  a  safety-car.  From  this  car  ex- 
tends an  arm  over  a  ratchet-rail,  laid  be- 
tween the  tracks.  Should  an  accident 
I  occur  either  to  the  car  or  to  the  gear- 
ing, this  arm,  the  moment  a  downward 
movement  begins,  inevitably  falls  into  the 
notch  of  the  ratchet-rail,  and,  being  too 
I  strong  to  break,  the  train  is  at  once 
brought  to  a  stand-still.  It  is  frightful- 
looking,  notwithstanding  this  assurance 
and  one  discovers  that  his  imagination 
i  takes  a  strange  pleasure  in  depicting  the 
I  terrible  whirl  through  space  and  the  hor- 
I  rible  splintering  upon  the  rocks,  should  it 
please  Fate  to  give  the  pleasure-trip  a  tragical  turn.  As  the  car  ascends,  the  view 
enlarges;  and,  when  the  height  is  reached,  a  splendid  prospect  opens  to  the  delighted 
visitor. 

What  follows  may  now   easily   be   conceived,  by   means  of  the   description   of  the 
road  already  given.    The  car  runs  easily  and  swiftly  along,  without  other  force  than   its 


A   Mauch-Chunk   Highway. 


;qi 


w^ 


wi 


Ii6 


PICTURESQUE   AMERICA. 


own  weight,  the  road  being  through  beautiful  woodland-scenery.  As  we  draw  near  the! 
mines,  large  villages  appear,  occupied  principally  by  the  miners,  and  at  Summit  Hill  isj 
hotel,  church,  and  other  evidences  of  civilization.  The  huge  structures,  called  coal-break- 
ers, at  the  mouths  of  the  mines,  form  new,  striking,  and  picturesque  objects,  and  im. 
mense  piles  of  ddbris,  accumulated  in  excavating  for  the  black  wealth  below,  look  like 
small  mountains.  Near  abandoned  mines,  these  vast  heaps  give  indications  of  a  new 
soil  gathering  on  their  surface.  Bushes  and  small  evergreen  trees  have  already  managed 
to  find  sufficient  nurture  amid  the  slate  and  coal-dust  for  their  roots.  The  leaves  from 
these  growths  will  add  soil  to  the  surface,  and  in  time  there  can  be  no  doubt  that, 
what  are  now  unsightly  masses  of  ddbris,  will  be  covered  with  grass  and  trees,  affording 
possibly  a  new  puzzle  for  the  geologist  of  a  thousand  years  hence. 

The  circuit  completed,  we  leave  the  car  well  up  Mount  Pisgah,  and  descend  the 
mountain-road  to  the  village.  The  roofs  show  far  down  below  us  among  the  trees,  and 
the  houses,  hugged  in  close  by  the  hills,  are  grouped  in  most  picturesque  form.  It  is 
the  most  novel  and  striking  approach  to  a  town  that  can  be  imagined.  As  we  neat 
the  houses  they  seem  so  directly  beneath  that  we  wonder  if  a  slip  would  not  precipi- 
tate us  down  a  chimney,  or  impale  us  on  a  steeple.  The  second  of  our  larger  illustra- 
tions siiows  the  scene  as  we  near  the  town  from  this  approach.  There  is  a  church-roo( 
below  the  point  of  view,  and  a  row  of  houses  in  the  middle  ground  on  the  hill-side, 
and  a  new,  picturesque  church,  set  up  by  the  architect  just  where  it  would  add  most  tc 
the   beauty  and   effectiveness  of  the  picture. 

A  tunnel  is  now  constructing  through  the  mountain,  which  will  bring  the  mines 
in  direct  communication  with  canal  and  river,  without  pLne  or  grades.  This  will  sim 
plify  the  business  of  the  mines,  no  doubt,  but  the  Mount-Pisgah  plane  and  the  Gravitv 
Road  have  always  been  among  the  most  novel  and  interesting  features  of  the  place 
and  their  loss  will   be  deplored    by  tourists. 

The  street-scenes  in  Mauch  Chunk  are  quaint  enough.  They  are  literally  hi>jhwav\ 
As  thnre  is  no  room  for  gardens  or  out-buildings  back  of  the  houses,  they  arc  liuili 
up  above  them,  and  are  reached  by  ladders.  It  is  not  uncommon,  in  the  ruder  parts  nf 
the  town,  to  see  a  pigsty  up  above  the  house-top,  reached  by  a  ladder;  anotlur  ladder 
extending  above  this  to  a  potato  or  cabbage  patch,  and  another  leading  to  tiu'  familv 
oven,  presiding  over  the  strange  group  with  suitable  honor  and  dignity. 

A  visit  to  Mauch  Chunk  makes  a  pleasant  summer-trij) ;  but  in  October,  v  hen  all 
the  superb  hills  that  encircle  the  quaint  town  are  in  the  full  glow  of  th'Hr  autumn 
tints,  the  innumerable  mountain-excursions  that  then  may  be  taken,  which,  in  sumrmr 
would   be  too  fatiguing,  enhance  greatly  the  pleasure  of  the  visit. 


ON    THE 
SAVAN  N  AH. 


TIM,  ( rni:s  ok  savannah  and  augusta 


'"THE     SA 
■'■      river  of 


lVANNAM,    the     largest 
Georgia,  and  forming  the  boundary  between 
this  State  and  South  Carolina,  rises  by  two  head-streams,  the 
Tufjaloo  and  Kiowec,  in  the  Appalachian  chain,  and  near  the  sources  '^j^,^ 

<>l   ilir  Tennessee  and  Hiawassee  on   the  one  side,  and   the  Chatt:i- 
lioochct-  on   the  other.      From   the  junction  of  these  confluents  at 


I     5 


-         <l 


ir- 


1 1' 


1 


m 


ii8 


PICTURESQUE   AMERICA, 


'  .1 


i   «tt 


4     ! 


Andersonville   the  river  has  a  course  of  four  hundred  and   fifty  miles  to  the  sea.     St' 
vannah  and  Augusta,  two  of  the  largest  cities  in  the  State,  are  situated  upon  its  banks, 

the  former  seventeen  miles  from  where  it  empties  into 
the  Atlantic,  the  latter  at  the  head  of  navigation,  two 
hundred  and  thirty  miles  from  its  mouth.  The  river 
between  these  points  glides  between  richly  -  wooded 
banks,  with  occasional  glimpses  of  cotton-plantations  in 
the  upper  portion  and  of  rice-plantations  below.  The 
wild  swamp-wastes  that  mark  its  lower  shores  are  full 
of  a  strange,  weird  beauty,  and  the  groves  of  massive 
live-oaks,  hung  with  their  mossy  banners,  that  shadow 
and  conceal  the  mansions  of  the  plaiiters,  have  a  noble 
grace  that  is  very  captivating. 

The  site  for  the  city  of  Savannah  was  selected  bv 
General  Oglethorpe,  the  foundei  of  the  colony  of  Geor- 
gia, who  made  his  first  settlement  at  this  point  in  Feb- 
ruary, 1733.  The  city  occupies  a  promontory  of  land, 
rising  in  a  bold  bluff,  about  forty  feet  in  height,  close 
to  the  river,  extending  along  its  south  bank  for  alwui 
a  mile,  and  backward,  widening  as  it  recedes,  ahout  si.\ 
miles.  The  river  making  a  gentle  curve  around  Hutch- 
inson's Island,  the  water-front  of  the  city  is  in  the  form 
of  an  elongated  crescent,  about  two  and  a  half  miles  in 
leni;th.  The  present  corporate  limits  extend  hack  or 
the  elevated  plateau,  with  lowlands  on  its  eastern  ana 
western  flanks,  a  distance  of  about  one  and  a  half  mib: 
the  area  of  the  municipal  limits,  at  present  almost  en- 
tirely occupied  with  buildings,  being  three  and  otu-third 
miles  square.  Beyond  the  city  limits,  to  tiie  south 
suburban  settlements  are  fast  growing  up;  and,  at  the 
present  ratio  of  expansion,  the  city  proper  will  <m^ 
comprise  double  its  present  area,  the  adjacent  grounds 
being  both  eligible  and  available  to  an  unlimited  extent. 
In  its  general  plan.  Savannah  is  universally  conceded 
to  be  one  of  the  handsomest  of  the  American  cities; 
and  in  view  of  its  antiquity,  and  the  fact  that  its  found- 
ers were  for  the  most  part  poor  refugees,  seeking  a  home  in  the  wilderness  ainong  hos- 
tile savages,  it  is  a  matter  of  surprise  that  they  should  have  adopted  a  system  at  once 
so  unique,  practical,  and  tasteful.     The   streets — running  nearly  east  and  west,  and  north 


-^.i..::..!^.,^^^- 


ON    THE   SAVANAAH. 


119 


^and  south,  and  crossing  at  right  angles — are  of  various  widths;  the  very  wide  streets, 
which  run  east  and  west,  being  alternated  with  parallel  narrower  streets,  and  each  block 
intersected  with  lanes  twenty-two  and  a  half  feet  in  width.  The  streets  running  north 
and  south  are  of  nearly  uniform  width,  every  alternate  street  passing  on  either  side  of 
small  public  squares,  or  plazas,  varying  from  one  and  a  half  to  three  acres  in  extent, 
\  which  are  bounded  on  the  north  and  south  by  the  narrower  streets,  and  intersected  in 
the  centre  also  by  a  wide  street. 

These  plazas — twenty-four  in  number,  located  at  equal  distances  through  the  city, 
handsomely  enclosed,  laid  out  in  walks,  and  planted  with  the  evergreen  and  ornamental 
trees  of  the  South — are  among  the  distinguishing  features  of  Savannah,  and  in  the  spring 
and  summer  months,  when  they  are  carpeted  with  grass,  and  the  trees  and  shrubbery 
are  in  full  flower  and  foliage,  afford  delightful  shady  walks  and  play-grounds  for  the  ju- 
veniles, while  they  are  not  only  ornamental,  but  conducive  to  the  general  health  by  the 
free  ventilation  which  they  afford.    They  have  well  been  called  the  lungs  of  the  city. 

Upon  the  large  "  trust-lots,"  four  of  which  front  on  each  of  these  squares — two  on 
the  east  and  two  on  the  west — many  of  the  public  edifices  and  palatial  private  resi- 
dences (if  Savannah  are  built.  It  is  a  little  singular  that  the  Savannaheans  are  in- 
debted for  this  beautiful  and  unique  feature  of  their  city  to  the  sagacious  precaution  of 
the  first  settlers  against  the  dreaded  attacks  of  the  Indians.  We  are  told  by  Mr.  Fran- 
cis Moore,  who  wrote  in  1736,  that  "the  use  of  this  is,  in  case  a  war  should  happen, 
the  villages  without  may  have  places  in  town  to  bring  their  cattle  and  families  into  for 
refuge,  and  for  that  purpose  there  is  a  square  left  in  every  ward,  big  enough  for  the 
outwards  to  encamp  in." 

In  addition  to  these  old  camping-grounds — many  of  which  were  occupied  for  the 
same  purpose  by  General  Sherman's  troops  during  his  occupation  of  the  city — a  public 
park,  comprising  some  ten  acres  (since  increased  to  thirty  acres),  called  Forsyth  Place, 
was,  a  few  years  since,  laid  out,  a  considerable  distance  south  of  the  city  limits.  It  is, 
however,  now  being  rapidly  enclosed  by  buildings,  and  will  in  a  short  term  be  the  centre 
of  one  of  the  finest  and  most  populous  portions  of  the  city.  Many  of  the  original 
pine-trees  were  left  standing  on  the  grounds,  which  are  laid  out  in  serpentine  walks,  and 
ornamented  with  evergreen  and  flowering  trees  and  shrubbery.  In  the  centre  is  a  hand- 
some fountain,  after  the  model  of  that  in  the  F*lace  de  la  Concorde  in  Paris,  and  which  is 
supplied  with  water  from  the  city  water-works.  The  lofty  pines  still  standing,  with  the 
ornamental  trees,  afford  a  grateful  shade ;  while  the  beautiful  shelled  walks,  tho  lu.xuriant 
grass,  the  fragrant  flowers,  and  the  plashing  fountain,  make  Forsyth  Place  a  delir;iitful 
retreat  from  the  noise,  bustle,  dust,  and  heat  of  the  city. 

Among  the  peculiar  features  of  Savannah  which  command  the  admiration  of  stran- 
gers are  the  wideness  of  its  principal  streets,  aliounding  with  snade-trees.  and  the  flower- 
gardens  which,  in  the  portions  of  the  city  allotted  to  private   residences,  arc  attached  to 


if  *  i' 


mm-'  'I 


II 


'  n 


\\x^ 


si 


ISO 


PICTURESQUE   AMERICA. 


if 


almost  every  house.  Ornamental 
trees  of  various  species,  mostlr 
evergreens,  occupy  the  public 
squares,  and  stud  the  sidewalks  b 
all  the  principal  thoroughfare 
while  the  gardens  abotind  with  or- 
namental  shrubbery  and  flowers  of 
every  variety.  Conspicuous  amoni; 
the  former  arc  the  orange- tree, 
with  its  fragrant  blossoms  and 
golden  fruit  in  their  season,  the 
banana,  which  also  bears  its  fruit, 
the  magnolia,  the  bay,  the  cape- 
myrtle,  the  stately  palmetto,  the 
olive,  the  arbor-vita,  the  flowering 
oleander,  and  the  pomegranate 
Flowers  are  cultivated  in  the  open 
air,  many  choice  varieties— queen 
among  them  all,  the  beautiful  m- 
mcllia  Japonica,  which  nourishes 
here  in  greatest  perfection,  tht 
shrub  growing  to  a  height  of 
twelve  to  fifteen  feet — blooming  in 
mid-winter.  At  all  seasons,  Savin- 
nah  is  literally  embowered  in 
shrubbery,  and  in  the  early  spring 
months,  when  the  annuals  resume 
their  foliage,  and  the  evergncK 
shed  their  darker  winter  dress  for 
the  delicate  green  ot  the  new 
growth,  the  aspect  of  the  city  is 
truly  novel  and  beautiful,  justh 
entitling  it  to  the  appropriate  i<y 
briquet  by  which  it  has  long  lian 
know.i,  far  and  wide,  of  tiie  "For- 
est City." 

The  old  city  of  Oglcthe.riK's 
time  was  located  on  the  lirow  of 
the    bluff,  about   midway   I'etwttH 


>]n, 


ON    THE   SAVANNAH 


121 


^.-^r^\ 


Fountain   in    Forsyth    Park. 

jthe  present  eastern    and  western   suburbs,  and 

[its    hdundarics    are    still    defined    by   the    Bay 

land  I'^ast,  West,  and  South  Broad  Streets.     Upon  the  river-front,  a  wide  esplanade,  about 

jtwo  hiimhed  feet  in  width,  extendinjy  l)ack    from    the    brink   of  the  bluff,  was  preserved 

for  pulilic  purposes.  This  is  called  the  Bay,  and  is  now  the  great  commercial  mart  of 
ISiiviinnah  As  commerce  jjrew  up,  warehouses  and  shipping-offices  were  built  by  the 
Ifirsi  sittkrs,  under  the  bluff  between  it  and  the  river.  In  time  these  were  replaced  by 
^«u!l^i.lnli.ll   brick  and  stone  structures,  rising  four  and  five  stories  high  on  the  river-front, 

.villi  one  or  two  stories  on  the  front  facing  the  Bay,  connecting  with  the  top  of  the 
jMiiir  liy  wouden  platforms,  which  spanned  the  narrow  road-way  beneath,  passing  between 
[till   liuildiiigs  and   the   hill-side.      Some   of  these   buildings,  spared   by  the   great   fire   of 

iNjo,  which  consumed   the  larger  portion   of  the  old   town,  are  interesting  for  their  an- 

tii|iic  aiiii  (juaint   architecture.      A  range  of  them,  opposite  the  foot  of  Bull    Street — the 

iii 


!    1^ 
< 

'  1 

fl 


i\m 


M^'l 


132 


PICTURESQUE    AMERICA. 


i 


fashionable  thoroughfare  of  the  city — is  made  the  subject  of  a  sketch  by  our  aiiis,  I 
These  relics  of  old  Savannah,  and  a  few  others,  hold  their  place  in  the  line  of  statelt 
modern  buildings,  which  now  extend  along  the  larger  portion  of  the  city-front  undn 
the  bluff.  Platforms  still  connect  the  upper  stories  of  the  stores  under  the  bluff  wiJ 
the  Bay ;  and  at  the  foot  of  the  principal  cross-streets  walled  road-ways  lead  to  thj 
quay,  which  is  wide,  and  occupied  at  intervals  with  large  sheds  for  the  protection  of 
goods  in  the  process  of  shipping  and  di;>charging.  Along  the  quay,  in  close  proximitv 
to  the  wharves,  are  also  located  the  cotton-presses  and  rice-mills. 

While    Savannah   makes  no  special   pretensions  to  architectural   beauty,  nevertheless  I 
the  city  contains  many  fine  public  and  private  buildings,  and  the  good  taste  wliich  cb 
acterizes  her  modem   improvements  evinces  a  progressive   spirit  and   liberality  worthy  i 


Afonument   to  General  Greene. 


Church,  Bull  Street. 


her  rapidly-increasing  wealth  and  commercial  importance.  Some  of  her  churcli  cd'fc 
are  models  of  architectural  beauty  ;  and  among  the  new  buildings,  many  of  which  have 
been  erected  within  the  past  two  years,  are  some  substantial  and  imposing  struclurfi 
In  Monument  Scjuare  there  is  a  fine  marble  obelisk,  erected  to  the  memory  of  Citmnil 
Greene,  of  Revolutionary  fame,  the  corner-stone  of  which  was  laid  by  Lafayette  liurinj 
his  visit  to  America  in  1825.  i  ,.  shaft  is  fifty-three  feet  in  height.  Another  ;iii(l  vm 
elegant  structure  was  erected  in  1853,  to  the  memory  of  Ctcneral  Pulaski,  wlio  fili.ii 
will  be  remembered,  during  an  attack  upon  the  city  by  the  Hritish,  in  the  yiai   1-9, 

Owing  to  the  crescent  form  of  the  city-fnint,  its  elevation,  and  the  abseiut-  of  am 
eligible  .point  of  observation  on  the  opposite  .side  of  the  river,  it  is  difficult  to  olitaina 
view  that  will  convey  a  correct  impression  of  its  size  and  appearance.  This  dilkultv 
our  artist   experienced,  as  the   best    position   which    lie   could  obtain,  on    Fig   Islai.J,  pr^  I 


I! 


OA'    THE   SAVANNAH. 


•23 


ntcd  but  a  meagre  profile  of  the  city-front   and  its  eastern  environs.      He  has,  how- 
fever   ffiven  us  a  sketch    of   the    city  as    seen    from    that    point,  that  will    be    readily 
oLrnizcd  by  the  citizens  of  Savannah.     The  view  takes   in   the   line   of  Hutchinson's 
f  hnd  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  river,  which  extends  the  entire  length  of  the  city. 

The  view  of  the   mouth   of  the    Savannah    River  conveys   a    very   correct    idea  of 

Ih'  iDpearancc  of  the   entrance    to    the    harbor,  which   is   capacious   and  well    protected, 

r  Itce    Island    being   the    head-land    on    the    left,    and    the    extreme    southern   point   of 

luvfuskie   Island    defining    the  entrance   to  the  river  on  the  right.      The  steamer  seen 

eulv  opposite  Fort  Pulaski,  which   is   situated   on  Cockspur  Island,  has  passed  the  bar, 


Bull   street. 

lupon  wliich  there  is  a  depth  of  twenty-six  feet  of  water,  and,  following  the  wide  chan- 
bnel  marked  by  the  buoys,  is  proceeding  on  her  way  to  the  city,  which  may  be  reached 
■at  lull  tide,  with  a  depth  of  eighteen  and  a  half  feet  of  water.  When  the  dredging  is 
Icomplc'ied  in  what  is  called  "  The  VWecks,"  an  obstruction  which  has  existed  in  the  river 
Bpljosile  the  eastern  end  of  Fig  Island  since  the  old  Revolutionary  War,  a  much  greater 
tdc|ith  of  water  can  be  carried  up  to  the  city.  Passing  up  the  river,  the  stranger  is 
litiuck  with  the  peculiar  aspect  of  the  wide  expanse  of  grass-clad  salt-marsh  through 
Kliich  it  meanders,  forming  many  islands,  but  preserving  at  all  times  ample  width  for 
Mht'  uavijration  of  vessels  of  the  largest  class. 


l'-\^l 


'  I  { 


il 


\  ; 


'11 

i 


til 


','  5i. 


124 


PICTURESQUE   AMERICA. 


The  population  of  Savannah,  in  1870,  was  twenty-eight  thousand,  showing  a  lai 
increase  over  the  census  of  i860;  while  her  exports,  during  that  decade,  rose  from  sevei 
teen   million  to   fifty-eight   million— facts  affording  a  striking  illustration  of  her  growii^ 
importance  as  a  commercial  centre.     Until  the  construction  of  the  Central  Railroad,  thii 


Bonaventure  Cemetery. 


years  since.  Savannah  was  comparatively  isolated  from  the  internal  commercial  world,  her 
only  communication  with  the  interior  of  the  State  being  by  the  Savannah  River  to 
Augusta,  the  head  of  steamboat-navigation — the  wilderness  and  the  great  swamps  of  the 
Altamaha  interposing  an  impassable  barrier  to  the  vast  and  fertile  regions  of  the  South- 
west.   By  her  great  trunk-roads — the  Central,  and  the  Atlantic  and  Gulf,  and  their  connec- 


ON    THE   SAVANNAH. 


«25 


lions— she  now  offers  an  outlet  for  the  products  of  the  entire  State  of  Georgia,  Middle 
nd  West  Florida,  and  portions  of  Alabama  and  Tennessee,  and  is  in  unbroken  railroad 
jnnection  with  Memphis,  Mobile,  Vicksburg,  Louis- 
ble,  Cincinnati,  and  the  principal  commercial  cen- 
tres of  the  West.  When  it  is  considered  that  this 
irstem  of  railroad  communication,  which  has  already 
iiccomplished  so  much,  is  constantly  radiating  and 
iextending ;  that  the  harbor  is  one  of  the  best, 
safest,  and  most  accessible  on  the  South  -  Atlantic 
coast,  and  that  it  is  almost  on  an  air-line  by  the 
shortest  route  with  San  Diego  on  the  Pacific,  the 
impulse  which  must  be  given  to  the  commerce  of 
Savannah  by  the  completion  of  the  South-Pacific 
Railroad  cannot  be  over-estimated. 

The  benevolent,  literary,  and  educational  insti- 
tutions of  Savannah  are  numerous  and  liberally  sus- 
tained, some  of  them  being  among  the  oldest  in 
the  country ;  the  Union  Society,  for  the  support 
and  education  of  orphan  boys,  and  the  Female 
Asylum,  for  the  care  and  education  of  orphan  girls, 
having  been  founded  in  1750.  The  St.  Andrew's 
Society,  St.  George's  Society,  Hibernian  Society, 
Irish  Union  Society,  Hebrew  Benevolent  Society, 
Ladies'  German  Benevolent  Society,  the  Abram's 
Home  for  Poor  Widows,  the  Home  for  Old  and 
Indigent  Colored  People,  the  Savannah  Poor-House 
an  1  Hospital,  and  the  Marine  Hospital,  are  all  high- 
ly-respectable, prosperous,  and  beneficent  institutions. 
There  are  also  the  Georgia  Historical  Society,  the 
Georgia  Medical  Society,  Ycmg  Men's  Library  So- 
ciety, and  Young  Men's  Christian  Association,  be- 
sides other  fraternal  and   social  associations. 

The  subject  of  popular  education  has  com- 
manded the  attention  of  the  best  and  most  in- 
liucntial  citizens  of  Savannah,  through  whose  exer- 
tions, sustained  by  the  liberal  provision  of  the  mu- 
nicipal government,  a  public-school  system  has  been 

inaugurated,  which   is  justly  pronounced  equal   to  that  of  any  city  in   the   Union.    The 
Hev.  Barnas  Sears,  D.  D.,  agent  of  the  Peabody  Fund,  while  on  a  recent  visit  to  Savan- 


1  i? 


Old   Houses  in  Savannah. 


Bii''  I 


126 


PICTURESQUE    AMERICA. 


m       !: 


flfOftf"-' 


nah,  after  investigation,  in  a  pub- 
lic   address,  highly  complimented 
the  Board  of   Education  on  their 
admirable  school  system.    At  the 
public  schools,  which    are  classi- 
fied, progressing  from  the  primary  to  the 
grammar    and    high    schools,   two    thou- 
sand children  are  in  regular  attendance. 

Being    in    latitude    thirty -three  de- 
grees   and    some    minutes,    and   so  near 
the   Gulf   Stream   as  to  be  within    the   inHuence 
of   its   atmospheric    current,   the    temperature  of 
Savannah    has    all    the     mildness    of    the     tropics    in 
winter,  without   the   intense   heat   in   summer,  the  mean 


ON  th£  savannah. 


127 


temperature  being  sixty-six  degrees,  very  nearly  the  same  as  that  of  Bermuda.  The 
sultriness  of  the  "  heated  term "  in  Savannah  is  less  oppressive  than  in  New  York 
or  Boston,  mitigated  as  it  is  by  a  soft,  humid  atmosphere,  and  the  never-failing 
breath  of  the  trade-winds,  so  grateful  at  that  season.  In  point  of  health,  the  mortuary 
statistics  of  Savannah  will  compare  favorably  with  those  of  any  other  city  of  the  same 
population  in  the  United  States,  the  locality  being  comparatively  free  from  the  fevers  of 
the  lower  latitudes,  and  almost  entirely  exempt  from  the  pulmonary  affections  so  preva- 
lent farther  North.  For  Northern  invalids  the  climate  of  Savannah,  with  the  conven- 
iences and  comforts  of  the  metropolis,  is  considered  preferable  to  that  of  the  sanitary 
retreats  on  the  coast  farther  South. 

Savannah  is  not  without  suburban  attractions,  there  being  several  places  in  its  vi- 
cinity of  historical  interest,  whose  sylvan  character  and  picturesque  beauty  are  in  keeping 
with  the  "  Forest  City "  itself.  Thunderbolt,  White  Bluff,  Isle  of  Hope,  and  Vernon,  are 
all  rural  retreats  on  "the  salts,"  within  short  drives  of  the  city,  w'icre,  in  the  summer 
months,  the  bracing  sea-breeze  and  salt-water  bathing  are  enjoyed.  At  each  of  these 
places,  which  are  reached  in  a  few  minutes  by  an  extension  of  the  city  railroad,  are 
small  settlements  and  good  accommodations  for  visitors.  Bethcsda,  about  ten  miles  from 
the  city,  where  the  Union  Farm  School  is  located,  was  the  site  of  the  Orphan  House 
established  by  Whitefield  in   1740.  ' 

Our  artist  presents  a  sketch  of  Bonaventure,  which  is  located  on  Warsaw  River,  a 
branch  of  the  Savannah,  about  four  miles  from  the  city.  The  scenery  of  Bonaventure 
has  long  been  renowned  for  its  Arcadian  beauty.  A  hundred  years  ago,  the  seat  of  a 
wealthy  English  gentleman,  the  grounds  around  the  mansion,  of  which  only  a  dim  out- 
line of  its  foundations  remain,  were  laid  out  in  wide  avenues,  and  flanked  with  native 
live-oaks.  These  trees,  long  since  fully  grown,  stand  like  massive  columns  on  either  side, 
while  their  far-reaching  branches,  interlacing  overhead  like  the  fretted  roof  of  some  vast 
cathedral,  tiie  deep  shade  of  their  evergreen  foliage  shutting  out  the  sky  above,  and  the 
long,  gray  moss-drapery  depending  from  the  leafy  ca.iopy,  silent  and  still,  or  gently  mov- 
ing in  the  breeze,  give  to  the  scene  a  weird  and  strangely-sombre  aspect  at  once  pictu- 
resque and  grandly  solemn.  Many  years  ago  Bonaventure  was  devoted  to  the  purpose 
for  which  it  is  so  peculiarly  fitted  by  Nature,  and  became  the  burial-place  of  many  of 
the  prominent  families  of  Savannah,  whose  memorial  monuments  add  to  its  solemn 
beauty.  Recently  the  place  has  been  purchased  by  a  company,  by  whom  it  has  been 
enclosed,  the  trees  trimmed,  the  grounds  cleared  of  their  rank  growth,  laid  out  in  lots, 
and  opened  to  the  public  as  a  cemetery.  In  this  operation  much  of  the  wild  beauty 
of  Bonaventure  has  been  literally  trimmed  away,  thus  demonstrating  the  fact  that,  in 
the  picturesque  at  least,  it  is  not  always  in  the  power  of  art  to  improve  upon 
Nature. 

Though  constantly  threatened  from  the  commencement  of  the  war  till    its  evacua- 


8« 


11 


.■i~t:xW 


,^'vi- 


I 


1 

.1              .1 

1 

■■- 

1 

.-'J*. 


ON    THE   SAVANNAH. 


129 


at  its  close,  Savannah  was  so  fortunate  as  to  escape  attack.  Since  the  war  her 
•ifizens  have  been  equally  fortunate  in  being  able  to  preserve  her  municipal  govern- 
Jment  in  the  hands  of  her  own  people.  A  wise  and  prudent  administration  of  her 
Ufliiirs,  together  with  the  business  enterprise  and  energy  of  her  citizens  in  reopening  and 
[extending  the  old  channels  of  commerce,  and  in  inviting  and  providing  employment  to 
capital  and  enterprise  from  abroad,  has  given  an  extraordinary  impetus  to  the  growth 
[and  commercial  prosperity  of  the  city,  which,  with  the  great  natural  advantages  of  her 
;  position  and  the  accomplishment  of  the  great  enterprises  of  internal 'improvement  with 
^  which  her  interests  are  identified,  afford  the  most  encouraging  assurance  of  a  prosperous 

future. 

Augusta,  which  lies  at  the  other  extreme  of  the  navigable  waters  of  the    Savannah, 

[was  settled  only  two  years  later  than  its  seaward  rival.  Like  Savannah,  it  was  laid  out 
under  the  personal   supervision   of  General    Oglethorpe,  to  whom   it  is  indebted  for  its 

I  name,  given  in  honor  of  one  of  the  English  princesses.  It  is  situated  on  a  broad  plain. 
The  wooded  and  winding  Savannah  waters  one  of  its  sides ;  handsome  villa-crowned  hills 
environ  it  on  others.  The  taste  which  has  made  Savannah  one  of  the  handsomest  of 
cities  is  apparent  here  also  in  its  broad  avenues  richly  shaded  with  antique  trees.  The 
recent  war  laid  no  devastating  hand  on  its  handsome  streets  or  its  embowered  villas ; 
unlike  so  many  of  the  Southern  cities,  it  stands  with  the  beauty  and  grace  that  the 
years  have  given  it,  unimpaired  by  misfortune  and  uninjured  by  firebrand  or  assault. 
But  it  has  not  always  been  so  fortunate  in  escaping  the  horrors  of  war;  for,  during 
the  Revolution,  it  was  of  so  much  importance  as  a  military  post  as  to  lead  to  sev- 
eral desperate  battles  for  its  possession.  The  vindictiveness  that  characterized  the  war 
of  the  Revolution  all  through  the  South  was  exhibited  here.  In  1780,  the  city  was 
in  the  hands  of  the  invader,  and  the  patriots  made  a  gallant  effort  to  retake  it.  But 
they  failed,  and  the  British  commander  was  so  exasperated  at  the  attempt  that  he 
ordered  the  immediate  execution  of  a  number  of  prisoners  in  his  possession. 

The  most  beautiful  of  its  avenues  is  Greene  Street,  which  is  lined  with  fine  man- 
sions. Tall,  spreading  trees  not  only  grace  the  sidewalks,  but  a  double  row,  with  grassy 
spaces  between,  run  down  the  centre  of  the  ample  roadway.  This  sets  beautiful  park- 
grounds  before  every  man's  door ;  and  the  children  playing  under  the  trees,  and  the 
roaming  cattle  that  are  allowed  to  gather  in  the  grateful  shade,  give  the  scene  a  domestic 
peace  that  is  very  charming.  Here  stands  the  City  Hall,  a  really  fine  building  of  ven- 
erable age,  set  in  an  ample  green  amid  tall  trees,  and  having  about  it  an  air  of  dignity 
and  repose.  The  building  and  grounds  are  kept  with  scrupulous  care,  and  the  scene  has 
more  of  the  rich,  quiet  charm  that  pertains  to  an  English  university-town  than  is  usually 
found  in  our  rude,  new-made  American  cities.  A  tall  granite  column  standing  before  the 
hall  in  the  green  of  the  roadway,  commemorating  the  signers  of  the  Declaration  of  In- 
dependence from  Geoigia,  adds  dignity  and    finish    to   the   picture.     The    main    busines.s- 


:.^ 


:     I; 


:  U 


d\. 

'■}':'           ! 

~ ' '  ''  ^"^^nffr^S  ^H^^^B'' 

rijfl 

j  i»iw 

ON    THE   SAVANNAH. 


131 


street  is  also  wide;  it  is  lined  with  handsome  shops,  in  which  may  be  noted  abundant 
siffns  of  activity ;  and  it  is  thronged  with  great  crowds  of  vehicles  from  the  countr>-. 

Augusta  is  an  important  cotton-market,  its  situation  at  the  head  of  navigation  on 
the  Savannah  giving  it  good  facilities  for  shipping.  Hence  cotton  centree  here  from  all 
the  surrounding  country ;  it  comes  in  the  shipping-season  in  vast  abundance,  both  by  rail 
and  by  wagons.  At  this  period  every  road  is  crowded  with  huge  vehicles  drawn  by  four 
and  six  mules,  and  piled  high  with  the  precious  merchandise,  wending  their  way  toward 
the  river,  while  the  streets  of  Augusta  are  thronged  with  these  vehicles  in  picturesque 
confusion.  Active  scenes  are  witnessed  on  the  banks  of  the  river,  where  small  stern- 
wheel  steamers  come  up  and  bury  themselves  to  their  smoke-pipes  in  cotton-bales.  The 
groups  of  boats  shown  in  the  engraving  illustrating  this  scene  are  just  below  the  long 
and  handsome  bridge  which  connects  Augusta  with  the  town  of  Hamburg,  on  the 
South-Carolina  side  of  the  river.  The  Savannah,  although  at  the  head  of  navigation,  is 
wide  at  this  point,  and  its  shores  are  picturesque.  Along  the  high  banks  upon  which 
Augusta  is  situated  are  rows  of  old  mulberry-trees,  the  trunks  of  which  are  covered 
with  warts  and  knobs,  and  their  gnarled,  fantastic  roots  exposed  by  the  washings  of  many 
freshets.  Facing  these  trees  are  many  pleasantly-situated  cottages  and  villas,  with  very 
charming  jirospects  of  the  river  and  the  green  slopes  of  the  opposite  shore. 

We  f>ive  a  view  of  Augusta  from  Summerville,  a  suburban  town  of  handsome  villas, 
situated  on  high  hills  two  or  three  miles  from  the  city.  A  line  of  horse-cars  runs  from 
the  town  to  the  summit  of  the  range.  Here  arc  situated  many  villas  and  cottages,  em- 
bowered in  trees,  with  broad  verandas,  handsome  gardens,  and  many  signs  of  wealth 
and  culture.  The  scene  is  more  Northern  in  its  general  features  than  Southern ;  the 
houses  arc  like  the  Northern  suburban  villas,  and  the  gardens  not  essentially  diflercnt, 
although  the  Spanish  bayonet— that  queer  horticultural  caprice,  with  its  bristling  head  of 
pikes— shows  a  proximity  to  tropical  vegetation.  These  heights  form  a  part  of  the  fa- 
mous red  sand-hills  of  Georgia,  and  a  characteristic  feature  are  the  rich  red  tints  of  the 
roadways. 

Augusta  has  been  quietly  solving  the  problem  whether  cotton  fabrics  can  be  manu- 
l.icturcil  profitably  in  cotton-growing  sections,  by  estai)lishing  and  successfully  working  a 
large  factory,  which  now  employs  over  five  hundred  operatives.  A  canal,  which  brings 
the  upper  Hoods  of  the  Savannah  to  the  city  at  an  elevation  of  forty  feet,  supplies  ample 
water-power  for  factories,  and  is  encouraging  an  extensive  embarkation  into  manuliicturcs. 
li  is  nine  miles  long.  The  United  States  have  an  arsenal  at  Augusta,  on  the  Summcr- 
\ille  lulls.  Here,  during  the  war,  the  Confederates  built  extensive  workshops  and  pow- 
ilir-mills,  which  now  have  a  curious  interest  to  the  visitor.  The  population  of  (his  city, 
inording  to  the  census  of   1870,  was  over  fifteen  thousand. 


# 


!  n 


THE    FRENCH     BROAD. 

0 

WITH   ILLUSTRATIONS  BY   HARRY   FENN. 

XT  ATURE  seldom  repeats  herself.  In  all  of  her  wild  vagaries,  on  river,  plain,  and 
■*■  ^  mountain,  there  is  observable  the  same  diversity  of  outline  and  expression  that  is 
to  be  seen  in  the  highest  type  of  creation — man.  The  scenery  which  springs  forth 
with  such  marvellous  variety  at  her  magic  touch — now  rugged,  now  grand,  now  full  of 
grace  and  beauty,  now  calm  as  the  ethereal  blue,  never  palling  upon  the  eye— the 
music  of  her  water-falls,  the  solemnity  of  her  forests,  the  reverberations  of  her  mountain- 
heads,  the  wild  fury  of  her  oceans — all  these  manifesta- 
tions of  power  and  beneficence  serve  to  link  the  creat 
ure  with  his  Maker,  and  teach  him  to  look  with  love 
and  reverence  from  "  Nature  up  to  Nature's  God." 

The  denizen  of  the  city,  who  has  been  walled 
around  with  brick  and  marble,  goes  forth  to  worsiiip 
at  these  shrines,  and  find  in  peaceful  haunts  the  noble 
kinship  that  stirs  within  him  holiest  of 
aspirations.  Wherever  Nature  has  laid  hei 
master-hand  and  evoked  the  picturesque, 
thither  she  has  drawn  these  votaries,  until 
from  the  region  of  icebergs  to  the  jungle* 
of   the    equator,   there    is    scarcely  a  spot 


faint  Rock,  on  the  French   llroad. 


^^4sflsf^^v 


■r,  plain,  and 
ssion  that  i? 
prings  forth 
now  full  of 
he  eye-the 
er  mountain- 
se  manifesta- 
nk  the  creat 
)k  with  love 
e's  God." 
been  walled 
1  to  worship 
ts  the  noble 
holiest  of 
has  laid  hei 
picturesque, 
Jtaries,  until 
the  junjfkf 
■cely  a  spot 


■^ 


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■■',  ^    y 

1 


THE    FRENCH    BROAD. 


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M 


m 

I 
1 

m 

'34 


PICTURESQUE   AMERICA, 


■   .; 


replete  with  attraction  that  has  not  at  some  time  been  the  abiding-place  of  the  touiiaj 
and  stranger. 

Such  is  eminently  true  of  our  own  America;  and  yet,  in  the  vastness  of  the  con. J 
tinent,  new  beauties  are  being  continually  discovered,  and  points  of  interest  are  becoming 
places  of  resort,  which,  but  a   few  years  ago,  were  known  only  to   the   explorer  or  tht : 
local   inhabitant.     The   Adirondacks,  the  Yosemite   Valley,  the   caflons   of  the  Westeni  | 
mountains,  the  wilds  of  Maine — these,  and  other  localities,  are  becoming  as  familiar  to  tiie 
summer  traveller  as  are  the   fashionable   neighborhoods   of  Niagara,  Memphremagog, « 
the  White  Mountains. 

Still   another  section   of  the   country  which    seems   destined    at    no    distant  day  to 
become   a  place   of  recreation,  and   to   attract    the    artist   and    lover   of  Nature,  is  that 
portion  of  Western    North    Carolina   through  which   course  the   beautiful  waters  of  tiie  \ 
French  Broad  River  and  other  mountain-streams,  and  which  may  be  described  in  general 
terms  as  the  table-land  of  the  Blue  Ridge. 

The  fame  of  the  beauty  and  the  sublimity  of  the  scenery  is  extensive,  and  the 
realization  does  not  belie  the  report.  Tall,  grim,  old  rocks  lift  their  bald  heads  far,  &r 
toward  the  heavens,  in  all  the  sublimity  of  solemn  grandeur ;  while  in  the  vision  of  the 
distant  lowlands,  that  may  be  enjoyed  from  this  summit  or  that,  is  a  soft,  sweet  delican 
which  breathes  almost  of  the  celestial,  and  makes  one  feel  unconscious  of  aught  save  the 
panorama  of  loveliness  before  him. 

Indeed,  it  would  seem  as  if  Nature  had  selected  this  region  for  the  display  of  her 
fantastic  power  in  uplifting  the  earth,  and  giving  to  it  strange  shapes  and  startling  con- 
trasts— in  imparting  curious  physiognomies  to  the  mountains  and  evoking  melody  froni 
the  water-falls. 

The  locality  comprises  about  eight  thousand  square  miles  of  territory,  and,  though 
settled  more  than  a  hundred  years  ago,  and  a  great  pass-way  from  the  West  to  the  East 
and  South,  has  not  yet  seen  a  single  railway  penetrate  the  solid  walls  that  form  its  | 
border.  The  old-fashioned  stage-coach  still  lumbers  along  the  mountain-turnpikes,  and 
holds  undisputed  sway  on  the  flower-lined  road  that  follows  the  course  of  the  river;  and 
the  locomotive  lingers  at  each  portal,  as  if  it  were  sacrilege  to  break  the  silence  of  the 
spot.  Perhaps  it  is  best  that  it  is  so,  for  there  is  certainly  a  shadow  of  romance  in 
travelling  through  these  solitudes  in  the  good  old  style  of  our  forefathers,  and  there 
is  often  u  keen  relish  in  experiencing  the  primitive  customs  and  semi-aboripinal  com- 
forts of  this  wild  region. 

In  journeying  to  this  "land  of  the  sky,"  the  traveller  from  either  North  or  West 
will  find  it  convenient  to  approach  from  Hast  Tennessee,  and  leave  the  cars  at  Green- 
ville, the  home  of  ex-President  Andrew  Johnson.  Here  a  stage  may  be  taken,  which 
carries  him  along  under  the  brows  of  hills  and  mountains,  crowned  with  the  Canada 
balsam,  the  Norway  spruce,  the  hemlock,  and  white-pine.    On  the  one  hand  he  will  catch 


I  "A 


I  'J 


I  if 


!  5 


136 


PICTURESQUE   AMERICA. 


I:t^  1 


glimpses  of  distant  valleys,  rich  to  repletion,  in  which  clusters  of  farm-houses  dot  the 
prospect ;  and  on  the  other  tower  tall  peaks,  that  have  no  rivals  this  side  of  the  Rocky 
Mountains.  A '  drive  of  a  few  miles  brings  him  to  a  range  known  as  thu  Iron  or 
Great  Smoky  Mountains,  and  here  he  passes  under  the  shadow  of  that  curious  forma- 
tion known  to  the  tourist  as  Paint  Rock.  The  French  Broad,  likewise,  bursts  upon 
his  view  in  all  its  wild  beauty ;  and  from  this  point  to  Asheville,  in  North  Carolina, 
and  beyond,  the  scene  is  one  of  mingled  loveliness  and  grandeur. 

We    linger  briefly,  however,  before   pursuing   the  journey,  to  describe  the  river,  of 
which  it  may  be  said  that,  in  all  this  gallery  of  Nature's  strange  fantasies,  none  possess 


A   Scene   on   the    Frencli    Hroati. 


so  many  characteristics  at  once  peculiar  in  themselves  and  attractive  to  the  tourist  and 
scientist  as  the  French   Broad. 

In  the  Indian  vernacular,  it  was  originally  known  as  Tselica;  but  the  Cherokces 
now  call  it  Tock yeste,  signifying,  and  not  untruthfully,  "  The  Little  Roarer,"  or,  as  trans- 
lated by  some,  "The  Racer."  Its  present  name  is  said  to  be  derived  as  follows:  "In 
the  early  settlement  of  the  country,  a  party  of  hunters  left  what  was  then  Mecklen- 
burg, North  Carolina,  for  the  mountains.  Crossing  Broad  River  in  Rutherford  Counn 
they  so  named  it ;  the  next  they  called  the  Second  Broad,  and  the  third  Main  Broad 
Then,  crossing  the    Blue   Ridge  at    Hickory-Nut    Gap,  they   came   to   a  stream  which 


)  tourist  and 


M 


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■     1             '   . 

>]iMe« 

.1 

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•THE     LOVERS'     LEAP  '      APPROACH      HY     NIGHT. 
18 


y:  :.U 


v^?^^r^;<¥^- 


138 


PICTURESQUE  AMERICA. 


u 


they  called  Cane  Creek,  from  the  abundance  of  cane  growing  on  its  banks — a  singular' 
thing  in  the  mountains.  Following  this  branch,  the  hunters  came  to  a  larger  anii: 
broader  river,  into  which  it  emptied,  and  named  it  the  French  Broad,  because  all  of' 
the  country  west  of  the  Blue  Ridge  was  then  held  by  that  nation." 

It  rises  in  the  Blue  Ridge,  on  the  South-Carolina  line,  but  a  few  feet  from  the  head. ' 
waters   of  the   Congaree,  on  the  south  side  of  the  divide.      Thence    it    flows  northward 
to   Tennessee,  the   first    forty   miles  of  its  journey  being  through  a  broad,  fertile  valley 
famed  for  its    beauty  of  scenery  and  fertility  of  soil.      The  route  from   this  direction  is ; 
perhaps  the  most  comfortable   by  which  one  can  approach  Asheville. 

These  upper  waters  of  the  French  Broad  are  now  a  favorite  place  of  resort,  and 
the  traveller  will  find  at  Flat  Rock  numerous  summer  residences  of  wealthy  Carolinians, 
where  art  and  Nature  have  combined  to  make  one  of  the  loveliest  localities  in  that  sec- 
tion of  the  country.  Caesar's  Head,  near  by,  is  a  lofty  mountain,  one  side  of  which  is 
a  perpendicular  precipice  of  great  height,  from  which  may  be  had  an  extensive  view  of 
the  upper  portion  of  South  Carolina.  An  hotel  is  erected  within  a  few  rods  of  the  preci- 
pice, and,  as  may  be  imagined,  it  is  a  cool  and  delightful  spot  in  which  to  spend  n 
summer  vacation.  '  ■ 

In  approaching  Asheville,  the  scene  changes ;  the  hills  press  close  in  upon  the  river, 
and  the  rapids  grow  more  and  more  furious,  until  they  make  their  final  plunge  at  Moun- 
tain Island.  This  singular  formation  is  caused  by  the  river  forcing  its  way  through  the 
ridge  on  each  side  of  a  knob,  from  fifty  to  seventy-five  feet  in  height.  The  fall,  at  this 
point,  is  about  forty-five  feet,  and  the  road,  which  above  runs  almost  into  the  river, 
below  skirts  a  dark  and  solemn  abyss.  The  view  by  our  artist  is  taken  just  above  the 
falls ;  yet,  beautiful  as  is  the  picture,  neither  pen  nor  pencil  can  do  justice  to  the  real 
grandeur  of  this  mountain-scene. 

The  geographical  centre  of  this  French-Broad  region  is  Asheville,  a  delightful  town, 
located  on  a  hill  above  the  river,  two  thousand  two  hundred  and  twelve  feet  above  the 
level  of  the  sea.  The  view  here  embraces,  on  the  one  side,  seemingly  interminable 
ranges  of  mountains,  from  which  at  least  a  hundred  peaks  rise  to  hold  communion  with 
the  clouds ;  and,  on  the  other,  a  beautiful  valley,  where  courses  the  river,  not,  as  yet, 
pent  up  within  its  rocky  walls  and  foaming  on  in  its  mad  career,     v      V  ^         A 

"The  soil  of  this  region  is  singularly  fertile.  This  is  due  in  the  valleys  to  the 
wash  from  the  mountains,  but  many  of  the  mountains  of  this  interior  basin  present  the 
strange  anomaly  of  being  fertile  to  their  very  tops.  It  is  a  singular  fact  respecting  this 
country  that  the  sharp-peaked  mountains  are  all  poor  land,  >vhile  those  which  are 
rounded,  and  come  up  rather  rolling  and  gentlv,  are  alii^.ost  invariably  rich.  There  are 
no  lakes  in  this  region ;  yet,  from  the  peculiar  formation  of  certain  sections,  it  would 
seem  that  there  once  had  been.  The  soil  is  generally  a  decomposition  of  granite,  gneiss, 
and  limestone.     It  is  rich  in  potash,  and  contains  undir,solved  particles  of  mica;  its  color 


J^        i. 


>  51 


'THE    LOVERS'    LEAP"-AT    EARLY    SUNRISE. 


140 


PICTURESQUE   AMERICA. 


is  dark,  and  to  the  touch  has  a  soapy  feel.  The  tree-growth  is  chestnut,  oaks,  hickory] 
black  and  white  walnuts,  cucumber-tree,  ash,  linden,  and  sugar-maple.  Dr.  Curtis,  t| 
distinguished  geologist,  once  said  that  he  found  every  shrub  and  flower  mar  Niaganj 
Falls  duplicated  in  Buncombe  County,  North  Carolina." 

The   journey  from   Asheville   down   the   French    Broad   to   the  Warm    Springs,  and  I 
onward  for  several  miles,  is  one  of  the   most   picturesque   that  can  be  conceived ;  for  at ! 
every  turn  new  beauties  are  presented  to  the  eye,  that   linger   in    memory  long  after  the  i 
scene  has  faded  from  view.     Our  artist,  in  his  several  sketches  of  the  route,  has  as  faith. 
fully   represented    its   general    character   as    a   mere    copy   will    permit.      The  road  is  a 
kind  of  terrace,  rcserbling  a   shelf,  dark  woods  and  sleep  rocks  overhanging  it  on  om 
side,  and,  on  the  other,  the  river  rushing,  tumbling,  and  roaring   over  ledges  of  rocic  it  | 
its  frantic  haste.     Occasionally,  at  a  sudden  bend,  you  will  see  the  sweetest  little  delk  u  1 
the  world,  canopied  by  the  spnice  and  hemlock,  by  laurel   and    running  vines,  where  the 
sunshine  never  intrudes,  and  the  shade  is  a  per   etual  invitation  to  rest.      Here  and  thm 
a  stream  of  water  gushes  from  the  mountain,  and,  trickling  down  the  brown  face  of  tin 
rocks  like  crystal  tears,  hurries  across  the  road  in  a  little  streamlet  to  join  the  grander 
flow  that  is  coursing  to  the  sea. 

By  moonlight  the  scene  is  singularly  impiessive.  The  old-fashioned  stage-coack,  I 
creaking  and  swaying  at  every  jolt;  the  driver,  with  his  quaint  speech;  the  notes  of 
his  horn,  cheerily  ringing  out  in  the  midnight  air,  and  losing  themselves  in  the  distant  | 
echoes  bounding  from  hill  to  hill ;  the  opposite  shores  of  the  river,  looking  in  the  1 
light  like  great  black  clouds  that  reach  from  earth  heavenward ;  the  curling  billows  a'  I 
)our  feet,  wallowing  one  after  another  upon  the  shore,  and  catching  rainbow  hues  from 
the  lamps  upon  your  coach  ;  the  long,  feathery  lines  of  foam  that  have  broken  loose 
from  the  dark  ledges  in  the  river;  the  great  rocks,  like  Lovers'  Leap,  that  rise  ovei' 
head,  spectre-like,  and  sublime  in  their  massiveness  —  all  these  are  incidents  of ! 
midnight  journey  along  the  French  Broad  that  the  tourist  will  recogni/.e  us  ainoiij| 
the  most  charming  of  ?;  lifetime. 

The  view  by  day  is  thus  described  in  the  Southern   Quarterly  Reviexo:  "Our  road  I 
an  excellent  cmc  for  the  mountains,  is  cut  out  along  the  very  margin  of  the  river.    Occa- 
sionally   there   is   no   ledge   to   protect   you   from  the  steep.      The   track   docs  not  ofteii 
admit    of    tw\)  carriages   abreast,   and   huge   immovable   bowlders  sometimes  contract  to 
the   narrowest   measures  the   pathway  for  the  single  one.     Vou  wind  along  the  precipice 
with  a  |)crpetual  sense  of  danger,  which  increases  the  sublimity  of  the  scene.    The  river,  | 
meanwhile,  boils,  bounds,  and  rages  at   your  feet,  tf)ssing   in    strange   writhings  over  tb 
fractured    masses  of  the   rock,  and   plunging   headhwig  with   a  groan   into  gnat  cavilb 
between,    now    leaping   with    a    surging   hiss   down   sudden   steeps,    which    it    ajjproachcs  I 
unprepared.     Hevond  vou  note  the  jierpendicular  heights,  stern,  dark,  jagged,  suspendinn 
a  thousimd  feet  in  air. 


t-;^-  i.   -3_  ift^tli  i(.cL  J  „ 


K    FARM  (<N  THE  FHENCH  UHOAI^ 


^  ■'!» 


m 

i 

1 

B^H 

■ 
■ 

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if 


I  'I 


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j;^^ 


';<*'. 


142 


PICTURESQUE   AMERICA. 


"  You  find  yourself  suddenly  in  a  cavernous  avenue.  Look  up  and  behold  an  enor- 
mous  bowlder  thrust  out  from  the  mountain-side,  hanging  completely  over  you  like  an 
Atlantean  roof,  but  such  a  roof  as  threatens  momently  to  topple  down  in  storm  and 
thunder  on  your  head.  And  thus,  with  a  sense  keenly  alive  to  the  startling  aspects  in 
the  forms  around  you — the  superior  grandeur  of  the  heights,  the  proof  which  they 
everywhere  present  that  the  volcano  and  the  torrent  have  but  recently  done  their  wor!- 
of  convulsion  and  revolution — you  hurry  on  for  miles,  relieved  occasionally  by  scenes  of 
strangely-sweet  beauty  in  the  valleys,  where  the  waters  are  calm,  where  they  no  longer  hiss 
and  boil  and  rage  and  roar  in  conflict  with  the  masses  whose  bonds  they  have  broken 
and  where,  leaping  away  into  an  even  and  unrufflel  flow,  they  seem  to  sleep  in  lakes 
whose  edges  bear  fringes  of  flowery  vines  and  the  loveliest  floral  tangles,  from  which 
you  may  pluck  at  seasons  the  purplest  berri-  .  drooping  to  the  very  lips  of  the  waters. 

"  Sometimes  these  seeming  lakes  gather  about  the  prettiest  islet; ,  liut  prompt  you 
to  fancy  abodes  such  as  the  fairies  delighted  to  explore,  and  where,  indeed,  the  Chero- 
kee has  placed  a  class  of  spirits  with  strange,  mysterious  powers,  who  are  acknow'iedired 
to  maintain  a  singular  influence  over  the  red-man's  desJnies.  A  landscape-painter  of 
real  talent  would  find,  along  the  two  great  stems  of  the  French  Broad,  a  thousand 
pictures  far  superior  to  any  thing  ever  yet  gathered  on  the  banks  of  the  Hudson  or 
the  groups  of  the  Catskill." 

Near  the  Tennessee  boundary,  and  close  by  the  Warm  Springs,  the  road  lies  in 
the  shadow  of  the  bold  mountain-precipices  known  as  the  Paint  Rocks.  These  have  a 
perpendicular  elevation  of  between  two  and  three  hundred  feet.  Their  name  is  derived 
from  the  Indian  pictures  yet  to  be  seen  upon  them.  In  a  poem  entitled  "  Tselica,"  the 
late  William  Gilmore  Sinnns  has  woven  into  beautiful  verse  a  charming  legend  of  the 
spot.  "  The  tradition  of  the  Cherokees,'  he  says,  "  asserts  the  existence  of  a  siren  in  the 
French  Broad,  who  allures  the  hunter  to  the  stream  and  strangles  him  in  her  embrace 
or  so  infects  him  with  some  mortal  disease  that  he  invariably  perishes."  The  loc  ility  it 
this  point  is  strangely  beautiful,  and  it  is  not  a  matter  of  wonder  that  the  Warm  Spriniis 
in  the  immediate  neighborhood  should  be  the  summer  resort  of  hundreds  vvlm  seek 
health  and  the  keen  enjoyment  which  Nature  here  contributes  to  every  sense. 

These  springs  are  among  the  natural  curiosities  of  the  Atlantic  .States ;  and  in  their 
curative  properties,  especially  when  employed  in  rheumatic  and  cutaneous  affections,  they 
are  said  to  rival  the  famous  Hot  Springs  of  Arkansas.  The  temperature  of  the  water 
varies  from  eighty  to  one  hundred  and  ten  degrees,  the  location  of  the  various  outlets 
apparently  determining  its  grade.  Analysis  has  demonstrated  that  it  gives  off"  free  sul- 
phuretted hydrogen  and  carbonic  acid,  and  holds  in  solution  carbonate  and  sulpliite  of 
lime,  with  a  trace  of  magnesia.  Baths  of  various  kinds  arc  arranged  for  tin  con- 
venience of  the  visitors;  and  the  fare,  the  trout-fishing,  and  hiuiting.  arc  all  that  can 
be  desired  at  a  country  watering-place. 


■--.s^jl  .iifii.-hjK'i.lM:'  J 


f  •  tt 


144 


PICTURESQUE   AMERICA. 


The  artist  has  graphically  portrayed,  in  an  accompanying  picture,  one  of  the  many 
striking  scenes  upon  the  French  Broad — a  farm  on  a  hill-side.  The  mountain  lifts  its 
lofty  peak  to  mingle  with  the  clouds ;  and  its  rough  escarpment,  taking  new  expression 
from  every  point  of  view,  overhangs  the  famous  Buncombe  Turnpike,  which  winds  along 
the  base,  skirting  the  river's  edge.  This  road  was  built  by  the  Statu,  about  forty  yeaR 
ago,  and  is  the  great  route  for  hogs  and  cattle  driven  from  East  Tennessee  to  the 
cotton-growing  section  of  South  Carolina.  Originally,  it  was  the  old  Indian  trail.  Pre- 
vious  to  i860,  as  many  as  sixty  thousand  head  would  pass  over  this  route  during  the 
winter;  and  these  animals,  with  their  human  tenders,  made  a  market  for  the  surplus 
produce  of  the  hill-sides.  Still,  as  may  be  imagined  from  the  sketch,  farming  under  such 
circumstances  is  rather  a  precarious  business;  for,  notwithstanding  the  fact  that  the  soil 
is   astonishingly    rich    in   potash   and    vegetable  matter — a   black,  fatty-looking   loam— the 


A  Team  on  ihe   French  Broad. 


difTicuIties  that  attend  its  cultivation  require  from  the  hardy  agriculturist  unusual  patience 
and  toil.  -'-j^    '  '• 

A  low-country  man,  on   his  way  to  the   Springs,  once  asked   one  of  these  famiet^ 
who  'VPS  si^niething  of  a  wag: 

"  Say,  squire,  you  don't  grow  »jom  up  yonder,  do  you  ? " 

"Well,  I   reckon  I  do." 

"How  much    lo  you  get  to  the  nere?" 

"Nigh  on  to  twenty-five  bushel — shelled — th.i-  or  tharabouts" 

"But  how  do  y  •»  manage  to  plough  (m  those  iiills?" 

"Why,  that's  easy  enough.      Yer  see,  our  animuls  is  I.  •       kinder   i  r  >  ar-    .    -> 
shoit  li"gs  and  two  long  legs — and  the  long  legs  allcrs  favel  on  ihe  dviv,'n-/iil'  '■itl''." 

"Just   one  question   niort,  squire — hov  in   thundt .    do  you   plant   it  kvln ,»     (lu  ;irt 
among  the  rocks  t" 


the  many 
n  lifts  its 
L'xpression 
inds  along 
brty  years 
lee  to  the 
trail.    Pre- 
iuring  the 
;he  surplus 
micier  such 
at  the  soil 
loam— the 


nal  patience 
Ese  larmers 


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146 


PICTURESQUE   AMERICA. 


%  '\ 


,  i ' 


"  Wall,  that's  easy  too.  We  jes'  load  our  shot-guns  with  the  kernels,  and  stan'  down 
here  and  shoot  'em  right  inter  the  ground,  and  thar  it  grows  spontanous-like." 

Not  an  unentertaining  study  of  human  and  animal  nature  is  likewise  presented  in 
the  old-fashioned  country  "schooners,"  with  their  teams  and  drivers,  which  Vvix^-r^,  ^^ 
turnpike,  carrying  the  produce  of  East  Tennessee  to  the  upper  country  of  Sour,  .an> 
Una.  Ethiopia  in  her  rags,  and  mule-power  with  all  of  its  obstinacy,  here  finwi:  ^ 
fitting  representatives.  There  is  no  spectacle  more  unique,  in  all  the  rar^ee  of  Squ«»wii 
reminiscences,  than  the  mutual  sympathy  which  seems  to  exist  between  man  and  bamt 
on  the  road,  in  the  camp,  and  at  the  corn-crib.  A  rope  constitutes  the  sole  electnc  cur- 
rent between  hand  and  bit,  and  half  a  dozen  strange  sountiK  in  the  vemacaiar  of  the 
driver,  now  persuasive  and  now  emphatic,  serve  to  surmouiu  every  difficuk\-  likely  to 
present  itself  on  the  mountain-paths. 

Another  point  of  interest,  but  a  short  distance  off  the  irwute,  which  has  been  de- 
picted by  the  artist,  is  the  old  mill  on  Reem's  Credt — ont-  of  Che  landmarks  of  the  davs 
when  it  was  a  struggle  between  the  Indian  and  tiie  pale^bce  as  to  which  should  iiold 
the  land.  The  creek  rises  in  the  Black  Mountains,  arid  empties  into  the  French  Broad: 
and  the  mill  is  historic  as  being  the  oldest  building  "dbis  side  of  the  mountains.  It  w 
built  there  by  the  settler  from  whom  its  name  is  denved,  as  "a  sort  of  fort,  something 
of  a  store,  and  a  little  of  a  mill."  The  old  ford  of  the  French  Broad  is  junt  at  tk 
mouth  of  the  creek,  and  it  is  a  part  of  the  tradition  of  the  neighborhood  thai  Daniel 
Boone  here  first  learned  to  shoot  Indians  and  bears. 

A  few  miles  up  the  stream  are  some  of  the  most  bea»tiful  valleys  m  the  world,  and 
on  one  of  the  mountain-spurs  near  by  are  cornfields,  three  thousand  five  hundred  lot 
higher  than  the  sea,  which  are  said  to  have  yielded  fiftx'  bushels  shelled  to  the  acre 
Timothy,  and  other  northern  grasses,  grow  luxuriantly  in  this  region  ;  and  witiiin 
the  last  three  or  four  years  several  cheese-factories  have  been  erected,  and  are  in  success- 
ful operation,  furnishing  products  which  are  pronounced  o  be  equal  to  those  of  tin 
North.  Enterprising  Germans  and  Americans  are  likewise  engaged  in  utilizing  the  vast 
water-power  of  the  French  Broad,  with  the  view  of  converting  some  of  the  magiiiliant 
chestnuts,  oaks,  maples,  and  walnuts,  which  abound,  into  implements  of  industr)-  and 
household  ornaments;  and,  doubtless,  the  time  is  not  far  distant  when  the  whistle  of  the 
locomotive,  the  hum  of  the  woollen  spindle  and  loom,  the  noisy  life  of  the  forge  and 
trip-hammer,  and  the  whir  of  the  factory,  will  be  heard  blending  with  the  melody  of  the 
rushing  waters,  and  adding  new  strains  to  those  which  Nature  has  sung  alone  in  these 
wild  scenes  since  the  creation. 

Among  the  Southern  institutions  which  arc  fast  yielding  to  the  march  of  pionrw 
are  the  fenies  on  the  public  roads.  In  the  oldf-n  time  the  cabin  or  fcrry-liouse  \v,i^ 
the  gathering  -  spot  of  the  neighl)f)rhood,  where  corn-whiskey  and  river-new.i  divided  the 
honors  of  the    hour,  and   frowsy   loungers   played    "seven-up"    on   the   moss-lined  rocks. 


THE    FRENCH  BROAD. 


H7 


The  idle  Cuffee  was  always  sure  to  fill  a  place  in  the  picture,  and  that  place  was  in- 
ariably  the  soft  side  of  a  plank,  where  he  slept  with  his  upturned  face  to  the  sunshine. 

The  ferry  itself  was  antique,  and  innocent  of  any  but  the  rudest  invention.  It  was 
cheap  in  construction,  and  the  perfection  of  a  simplicity  that,  so  far  as  any  improve- 
ment is  concerned,  might   have  originated  among  the  antediluvians. 

A  rope  extending  to  some  convenient  tree  on  either  bank ;  a  flat-bottomed  boat 
and  a  stout  negro — that  was  the  machinery.  You  drove  down,  whooped,  received  an 
answering  yell,  possessed  your  soul  in  patience  until  the  return  of  the  crazy  craft,  and 
entered  cautiously.  The  cable  passed  through  a  guide-post  attached  to  the  gunwale, 
and  the  fern'man,  seizing  it  with  a  peculiar  wooden  key,  gave  it  a  twist,  and  commenced 
the  process  of  pulling  his  freight  to  the  other  side.  If  any  thing  gave  way,  as  was  not 
un  frequently  the  case  during  a  freshet,  you  drifted  helplessly  down  the  current,  with  the 
chances  of  being  poled  ashore  in  some  out-of-the-way  spot,  or  of  a  cold-bath  in  the  river. 

Happily,  bridges  are  taking  the  places  of  these  antique  relics ;  the  railway  is  carry- 
ing forward  its  civilizing  influences,  and  in  a  little  while  the  tourist  may  be  whirled 
down  the  valleys  of  the  French  Broad  in  palace-cars  that  will  make  travelling  luxurious, 
albeit  it  may  rob  him  of  half  the  pleasures  that  attach  to  the  good  old  way. 

It  would  require  a  volume  to  acscribe  the  many  lovely  scenes  of  interest  in  and 
around  this  picturesque  locality — the  caves,  mountains,  water-falls,  and  natural  curiosities, 
within  a  da>'s  travel,  always  attractive  to  the  artist,  poet,  and  lover  of  Nature,  but 
there  is  one  spot,  that  has  been  illustrated  by  Mr.  Fenn,  which  deserves  at  least  a 
brief  notice.  Hickory-Nut  Gap  is  one  of  the  great  gate-ways  to  the  French-Broad 
Basin.  The  approach  from  Charlotte,  North  Carolina,  is  by  way  of  the  pretty  little  town 
of  Rutherfordton,  from  which  point  the  visitor  soon  reaches  the  view  of  and  is  lost  amid 
fthe  wild,  grand  scenery  that  prevails  on  every  side.  His  road  and  the  track  of  the  head- 
waters of  Broad  River  are  cut  through  massive  walls  of  granite  over  a  thousand  feet 
high.  Far  off,  in  the  distance,  he  looks  in  admiration  at  the  beautiful  falls  of  Hickory- 
Nut  Creek.  The  sun  glistens  on  the  spray-like  stream,  splintered  into  showers  of  dia- 
mond-drops by  a  fall  of  three  hundred  and  fifty  feet,  and  throwing  out  a  thousand  rain- 
bow iuies.  Passing  on,  he  sees  a  remarkable,  weather-worn  peak,  which  is  known  as  the 
Chimney  Hock,  reaching  like  a  huge  needle  toward  the  heavens.  The  entire  length 
of  till'  Gap  is  about  nine  miles,  the  last  five  of  which  are  watered  by  the  Rockv- 
Hioad  River.  That  portion  of  the  gorge,  which  might  be  called  the  gate-way,  is  at  ttie 
cMirn  extremity,  and  is  not  more  than  half  a  mile  in  width.  The  highest  bluff  t>  on 
tin-  south  side,  and  it  is  here,  midway  up  its  front,  that  stands  the  isolated  rock,  of 
circular  form,  looming  against  the  sky,  and  resembling  the  high  turret  of  some 
}.'!  ind  castle.  The  entire  mountain  i.5  composed  of  granite,  and  a  large  portion  of  the 
Miitr  in  question  hanf>cs  over  the  abyss  beneath,  and  is  as  smooth  as  «  possibly  could  br 
nude  by  Uu-  rains  of  uncounted  centuries.     Over  one  portion  of  this   -aiperb  Hiff.  falling 


41 
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CHIMNEY     ROCK,     HICKORY. NUT    GAP. 


THE   FRENCH  BROAD. 


149 


if    down  into  some  undiscovered  and  apparently  unattainable  pool,  is  a  stream  of  water 

i  hich  seems  to  be  the  offspring  of  the  clouds ;  and,  in  a  neighboring  rock,  near  the  base 

^  f  fl<e  orecipice,  are  three  shooting  water-falls,  at  the  foot  of  which,  formed  out  of  solid 

I  are  three  holes,  ten   feet   in   diameter,  and  from  forty  to  fifty  feet   in   depth.    The 

\     ter  in  them   has  a  rotary  motion,  and,  when   a  stick  or  branch   is  thrown   into  it,  it 

il   jjj  tiisappear  for  some  time,  and  then  rise  on  the  upper  side  of  the  pool,  to  disappear 

[again  in  the  same  manner. 

The  mineral  resources  of  this  French-Broad  region,  and  indeed  of  Western  North 

I  r  rolina  are  almost  boundless.     For  more  than  a  hundred   and   twenty  miles,  the  great 

§  Western  Turnpike  from  Asheville  crosses  mountains  of  iron-ore,  great  masses  of  copper 

|;     d  lead  veins  of  silver  and  gold,  and  runs  for  miles  upon   strata   of  the  finest  -  grained 

marble  of  every  shade,  from  the  purest  white,  through  variegated,  delicate,  and   rich   rose 

15  and  pink  tints,  to  the  sombrest  and  glossiest  black.     It  traverses  a  region  through  which 

there  are  springs  of  every  medicinal   character;  water-falls    of  immense    height;  chasms 

into  whose  seemingly  bottomless  depths  one  shudders  to  look ;  dark   chaparrals  of  laurel 

known  only  to  the  wild  beast ;  and    forests    in  which   the   foot   of  the  white   man   has 

never  trodden.     At   the  same  time  there  are   fertile  valleys  and   sloping  mountain-sides 

that  yield  tlic  largesse  of  Nature's  bounty.      Such   is   the   strange,  rich,  and   picturesque 

I  country  of  the  French  Broad.       ' 


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THE    WHITE    MOUNTAINS. 


WITH  ILLUSTRATIONS  BY  HARRY  FENN. 


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The  White  Mountuns,  from  the  Conway  Meadows. 

E  suppose  that  all  our  readers  know  that  the  White  Mountains  are  in  Ne« 
Hampshire,  and  that  they  are  the  highest  elevations  in  New  England,  and, 
with  the  exception  of  the  Black  Mountains  of  North  Carolina,  the  highest  in  the 
United   States,  east  of  the  Mississippi.  '• 

The   mountains   rise  from  a  plateau  about   forty-five    miles  in  length  by  thirty  in 


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THE    WHITE    MOUNTAINS. 


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breadth,  and  about  sixteen  hundred  feet  above  the  sea.  This  plateau,  from  which  rise 
nearly  twenty  peaks  of  various  elevations,  and  which  is  traversed  Ijy  several  deep,  nar- 
row valleys,  forms  the  region  known  to  tourists  as  the  White  Moimtains.  The  peaks 
duster  in  two  groups,  the  eastern  of  which  is  known  locally  as  the  White  Mountains, 
and  the  western  as  the  Franconia  Group.  They  are  separated  by  a  table-land  varying 
froni  ten   to   twenty  miles  in  breadth. 

The  principal  summits  of  the  eastern  group  are  Mounts  Washington,  Adams,  Jef- 
ferson, Madison,  Monroe,  Webster,  Clinton,  Pleasant,  Franklin,  and  Clay.  Of  these, 
Mount  Washington  is  the  highest,  being  6,285  f^-'t-'t  above  the  level  of  the  sea.  The 
height  of  some  of  the  other  peaks  is  as  follows:  Adams,  5,759  feet;  Jefferson,  5,657; 
Madison,  5,415 ;  Monroe,  5,349;  Franklin,  4,850;  Pleasant,  4,712.  The  principal  sum- 
mits of  the  Franconia  Group  are  Mounts  Pleasant,  Lafayette  (5,500  feet).  Liberty, 
Cherry  Mountain,  r.nd  Moosehillock  (4,636).  Near  the  southern  border  of  the  pla- 
teau rise  Whiteface  Mountain,  Chocorua  Peak  (3,358  feet).  Red  Hill,  and  Mount  Os- 
sipee;  and,  in  the  southeast.  Mount  Kearsage  (2,461   feet). 

Tlie  rivers  in  the  four  great  valleys  that  lead  to  the  White  Mountains — in  the 
l)ranches  of  the  Connecticut  Valley ;  in  the  Androscoggin  Valley,  that  passes  beyond 
these  hills,  commencing  at  a  lake  in  Canada ;  in  the  Saco  Valley,  which  begins  here  ; 
and  the  Pemigewasset  Valley,  an  off-shoot  of  the  valley  of  the  Merrimac — are  fed  by 
multitudes  of  little  streams  that  force  their  way  down  steep  glens  from  springs  in  the 
mountainside,  and  flow  through  narrow  valleys  among  the  hills. 

The  course  of  these  little  rivulets,  that  break  in  water-falls,  or  whose  amber  flood 
runs  over  mossy  beds  among  the  forests,  furnishes  irregular  but  certain  pathways  for  the 
rough  roads  that  have  been  cut  beside  them,  and  by  which  the  traveller  gains  access 
to  these  wild  mountain-retreats. 

Choosing  among  the  valleys  the  one  whose  picturesque  beauty  soonest  begins,  the 
valley  of  the  Saco,  the  tourist  to  the  mountains  finds  himself  at  the  northern  end  of 
Lake  Winnipiseogee,  surrounded  by  the  Sandwich  and  Gssi|)ee  II  ills,  of  which  White- 
face  and  Chocorua  are  the  loftiest  peaks.  .Starting  from  ('entre  Ilarbor,  a  summer  re- 
sort of  c(jnsiderable  celebrity  at  the  head  of  the  lake,  the  regular  stage-coach  for  Con- 
way and  the  mountains  is  soon  among  high  hills,  the  ruggedness  of  wiiich  begins  at 
once  to  develop  itself.  Winding  in  and  out  among  them,  the  stage  passes  now  under 
the  dark,  frowning  brow  of  a  cliff,  and  afterward  by  some  deep  ravine,  and  then  comes 
ujioM  a  lofty  plateau  which  overlooks  the  amphitheatre  of  hills,  till  at  Eaton  the  sunnnit 
of  Mount  Washington  is  often  distinctly  seen,  its  base  being  concealed  by  objects  nearer, 
riie  most  interesting  feature  of  the  ride,  however,  is  Chocorua,  and,  to  those  unac- 
quainted with  mountain-scenery,  the  first  imi)ression  of  this  peak  is  very  striking.  Driv- 
ing over  the  mountain-road  in  a  hot  summer  afternoon,  one  watches  the  great  hill-tops 
come   u|),  like  billows,  one  after  another,  from  the  sea  of  mountains  round  about,  as  the 


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THE    WHITE    MOUNTAINS. 


153 


coacli  winds  and  twists  amonp  them.  The  soft  afternoon  light  and  atmosphere  rest 
over  tlie  land,  which,  as  the  sun  sinks  lower,  becomes  streaked  with  pale  bars  of  light 
when  the  sides  and  shoulders  of  the  hills  are  developed  by  the  failing  day.  All  at 
once,  over  their  sides,  bands  of  a  still  softer  blue  appear,  which,  after  interlacing  the 
mountains  for  a  while,  are  succeeded  by  a  cool  purple  that  steals  up  these  hill-sides, 
and  chases  in  its  path  the  sunny  haze;  and  this  in  its  turn  gives  place  to  a  pinkish 
gray  of  almost    rosy  hue,  each   tint    changing    from    minute   to   minute,  till    they    are   all 


Elephant's    lle.-id.  Gate  of  Cmuford   Notch. 


fniail)'  merged    in  a  dark-purple   tone,  over  which  rests  a  tint  as  soft  as   the  bloom   on  a 
plum,  enwrapj)ing  each  mountain-peak  clear  cut  against  the  evening  sky. 

No  one  who  has  been  much  in  a  forest-region  can  have  failed  to  perceive  and  en- 
joy the  delicious  fragrance  that  emanates  from  the  resinous  woods  when  the  cool  air  of 
cveninjr  develops  the  exhalations  from  their  still  and  warm  foliage.  Descending  iiit(»  the 
(lanvi,  fresh  valley,  and  making  vmir  way  through  the  woods,  the  aromatic  odor  of  a 
hundred  different  growing  things  greets  your  nostrils.  A  turn  in  the  road,  and  a  bit  of 
open  meadow,  and  a  gust  of  air  as  warm  as  mid-day  envelops  you.  So  the  ride  goes  on 
till  the  great   stars   quiver  in    the   dark    vault    of  the   heavens,  that  seem  the  deeper  and 


154 


/VC" TURESOUE    AMERICA. 


more  mysterious  from  their  framework  of  mountain-peaks.  The  hill-sides,  fringed  witii 
trees  that  border  the  road,  rise  black  and  ghostly  in  the  gloom,  and  only  the  tramj)  of 
the  horses'  hoofs  on  the  hard  ground,  and  the  occasional  remark  of  your  fellow-pas- 
sengers when  they  rouse  up  a  little  from  their  abstracted  silence,  break  the  intense  still- 
ness  of  the  hour.  One  may  not  know  the  names  of  many  of  the  mountains,  but  the 
peak  of  Chocorua,  sharp  and  proud,  crowns  the  view  whenever  the  stage  comes  upon 
a  bluff  of  height  sufficient  to  overlook  the  landscape ;  and,  after  passing  through  a  wood, 
it  is  always  that  lonely  summit  that  rises  first  to  the  view  when  the  stage  emerges 
again  under  the  open  light  of  the  stars. 

It  is  after  this  ride  that  the  tourist  strikes  the  valley  of  the  Saco  at  Conway,  and 
awakens  the  following  morning  to  take  the  stage  for  North  Conway  and  the  mountains. 
After  half  a  dozen  miles'  ride,  leaving  the  peaks  of  Chocorua  and  Whiteface  behind  him 
over  his  left  shoulder,  Mote  Mountain,  with  its  long  sweep,  and  the  more  broken  out- 
line of  the  Rattlesnake  range,  take  the  prir.cipal  positions  in  the  panorama,  while  the 
Ossipee  Hills  retire  and  retire  toward  the  southern  hori:;on.  It  is  nine  o'clock  or  there- 
abouts when  the  stage  turns  into  the  road  on  the  edge  of  the  level  bank  that  rises 
about  thirty  feet  above  the  intervales  of  the  Saco,  and,  extending  some  three  or  four 
miles  in  length  to  the  foot  of  liartlett  Mountain,  reaches  back  two  or  three  miles  to 
the  base  of  the  Rattlesnake  range  and  to  Mount  Kearsarge,  and  forms  the  little  plain 
where  the  townshij)  of  North  Conway  nestles  against  the  mountain-side.  No  one  who 
has  ever  visited  this  valley  can  fail  to  remember  the  exquisite  view  from  this  road  when 
it  first  opened  before  them,  and,  varied  slightly  along  the  whole  length  of  the  ridcc 
till  arriving  at  tlie  farther  end  of  the  village,  the  low  hills  at  liartlett  shut  off"  the  chief 
features  of  the  scene. 

At  the  foot  of  the  bank,  and  bathed  in  the  morning  sunshine,  extends,  far  up  the 
valley,  a  ilat,  velvety  meadow  of  the  freshest  green,  and  dotted  over  it,  in  lines  or  little 
grou])s,  rises  the  very  ideal  of  elm-trees,  as  pure  in  form  as  a  fountain  or  a  vase.  The 
Saco  glimmers  here  and  there  in  the  morning  light,  its  course  nearly  hidden  by  hands 
of  dark-hued  maples.  vYbove  these  bands  of  trees  are  the  purple  slopes  of  Mote  Moun- 
tain, which  descends  abruptly  to  the  |)lain,  when  the  steep  face  of  the  Conway  ledges 
makes  a  sheer  descent  of  from  six  to  eight  hundred  feet  to  the  valley  of  the  Saco. 

At  the  northern  end  of  the  valley.  Mote  Mountain  bends  tiown  till  it  becomes 
a  low  ridge  in  what  is  called  the  "  Devil's  Arm-chair,"  and  Bartlett  slopes  gently  away 
to  give  place  to  a  broad  opening,  across  which,  extending  its  entire  length,  lies  Mount 
Washington  and  the  other  peaks  of  the  White-Mountain  range,  each  one  being  well 
separated  from  the  other,  and  the  outline  of  Mount  Washington  itself  one  of  the  hest 
afforded  from  any  position.  The  lower  flanks  of  these  mountains  reach  to  the  plain  (»f 
the  Saco,  and,  if  one  has  watched  this  scene  when  the  purple  shades  of  evening  ;;  itlnr 
on  the  mountain-sides  long  after  the  valley  and  the  lower  hills  are  wrapped  in  gloom,  he 


THE    WHITE    MOUNTAINS. 


155 


may  have  seen  the  pink  hues  of  the  evening  sky  still  lingering  on  those  mountain-peaks 
till  thcv  melt  from  the  dome-shaped  summit  of  Washington,  and,  witli  a  little  (juiver 
of  the  light,  its  huge  side  joins  the  pu.ple  mass  of  the  valley  and  the  hills  that  lie 
beneath  it. 

Every  view  of  the  mountains  has  its  own  peculiar  type  of  expression  ;  and  each 
aspect  on  the  north  side  is  more  or  less  bold  and  abrupt,  and  the  lines  of  the  hills, 
though  they  are  line,  grand,  and  impressive,  are   not  graceful.      liut    the   character  of  the 


The  Willey  Slide. 


scenery  at  Conway  is  peculiar  for  its  loveliness.  Ruskin  speaks  of  the  curves  of  a  snow- 
drift and  the  curl  of  a  sea-wave  being  as  beautiful  lines  as  are  to  be  found  in  Nature  ; 
and  ever}'  one  of  these  mountains,  whatever  the  geological  cause,  certainly  has  its  soft 
and  hard  side.  In  0)nway  you  see  the  curves  of  the  hills  on  their  long  swell,  rising 
s!o\v!\  from  valley  to  summit ;  and,  on  the  northern  slope,  the  mountain-wave  a|)pears  to 
have  hroken  and  rushed  abrujitly  to  the  plain.  Such  is  the  general  aspect  of  the  land- 
scajii ,  and  one  can  easily  picture  to  himself  a  beauty  of  the  scener)'  that  is  almost  femi- 
nine, as  it  appears  at  Conway.  Not  only  the  hills,  but  the  village  itself,  and  the  gentle 
meadows  of  the  Saco,  add  to    the   soft    charm    of  this  very  Arcadia  of  the  White  Hills. 


THE     WHITE    MOUNTAINS. 


157 


Here  Nature  seems  for  onec  to  have  thrown  aside  her  harsh  and  severe  character  in 
this  granite  heart  of  New  England,  and  to  have  abandoned  herself  to  a  genial  and 
happy  repose. 

Mount  Kearsarge,  at  the  northern  end  of  the  Rattlesnake  range,  is  the  highest 
peak  this  side  of  the  White  Mountains,  and  rises  in  an  almost  perfect  cone  from  the 
ridge  on  which  Conway  stands.  The  mountain  is  so  near  the  town  that  the  trees  on 
its  sides  are  distinctly  seen,  and  partake  of  the  greenish-purple  hue  of  all  near  moun- 
tains. An  excursion  to  the  summit  of  Mount  Kearsarge  is  the  most  important  one 
in  this  neighborhood,  and  is  easily  accomplished  on  horseback,  though  for  a  strong 
and  energetic  person  a  climb  is  not  very  formidable,  and  is  most  pleasantly  made  in 
the  afternoon,  when,  if  there  is  moonlight,  the  beauty  of  a  nigiit  on  the  summit  and  a 
return  to  the  village  in  time  for  breakfast  afford  a  delightful  series  of  pictures  for  the 
mind  to  dwell  upon  in  after-times. 

A  very  pleasant  day  may  be  spent  at  the  Conway  ledges,  which  are  perhaps  the 
finest  cliffs  in  the  whole  White-Mountain  region.  A  broken  rock,  six  hundred  feet 
higii,  is  colored  with  the  most  delicate  shades  of  buff,  purple,  and  gray,  with  small 
l)irchcs  growing  out  from  tiie  clefts  in  the  fractured  surface  of  the  stone  here  and 
there,  where  a  little  earth  and  moisture  have  collected.  To  the  rear  of  the  lower 
ledge,  Thompson's  Falls  break  over  a  spur  of  Mote  Mountain,  where  the  broken 
rock  is  thrown  about  in  the  wildest  confusion.  The  highest  of  the  ledges  rises 
more  than  nine  hundred  feet  above  the  bed  of  the  Saco.  A  little  scramble  of  a 
hundred  feet  or  so  through  herbage  and  over  rocks  brings  you  into  a  shallow  cave 
below  the  cliff,  whence  the  rocks  have  been  split  away  for  nearly  a  hundred  feet 
high,  and  the  wide  front  of  the  recess  is  almost  choked  with  trees.  This  spot,  a 
liworito  resort  for  picnickers,  is  named  the  Cathedral,  and  shares  with  Diana's  Bath 
the  interest  of  the  visitor  us  a  place  of  rest.  Diana's  Bath,  a  little  farther  up  the 
valley,  is  formed  from  a  succession  of  water-falls  that,  striking  upon  several  tiers  of 
rock,  have  worn  wells  into  its  substance,  with  pertectly  smooth  walls.  The  largest  of 
these  wells  is  about  ten  feet  across,  and  as  many  deep.  Looking  into  the  clear  depths 
of  the  water,  one  sees  at  the  bottom  small,  round  rocks,  the  cause  of  the  excavation, 
which  the  water  has  used  as  pestles  with  which  to  scrape,  and  grind,  and  polish  out 
these  natural  basins.  Echo  Lake,  directly  at  the  foot  of  Mote  Mountain,  has  the  char- 
actor  of  numberless  of  these  still  mountain-ponds,  hidden  among  the  forests,  deep  and 
quiet. 

Kecrossing  the  river,  on  the  slope  toward  the  Rattlesnakes,  one  of  t'iic  most  charm- 
ing spots  from  which  to  view  Chocorua  and  Mote  Mountain  is  Artists'  Fails.  This  is 
one  of  those  sylvan  scenes  of  mossy  rocks,  balibling  water,  and  beautifully-grouped  trees, 
which  artists  delight  to  study  in  "  bits,"  or  to  portray  in  its  entireness,  either  looking  up 
toward  the  brook,  or  off  down  the  declivity  to  the  mountains,  across  the  valley. 


T-r 


Ifh 


i58 


P/C  TURESQ  UE    A  ME  RICA. 


Starting  in  the  morning  from  North  Conway  on  the  mountain-road,  you  wind  ;ilon<r 
the  ridge  of  huiil  that  forms  the  town,  till  the  valley  becomes  narrow  and  hrokcn,  and 
the  hills  abrupt.  Brooks  cross  the  road  at  several  pcjints,  and  the  way  winds  round  the 
lone  flank  of  Bartlett  Mountain,  wooded  from  base  to  summit  ;  the'  stage  passes  tlu' 
beautiful    falls   at   Jackson,  and    Goodrich's    Ivills,  near  where    the    Ellis    River  joins  tiic 


riie  Descent  from  Mount  Wabl'.ington. 

Saco,  and  by  that  time  "s  fairly  among  the  high  mf)untains,  whose  walls  close  down 
nearer  and  nearer  upon  the  road  which  winds  along  the  channel  cut  by  the  Suco. 
In  the  middle  of  the  afternoon  the  abrupt  sides  s)f  Mount  Crawford  bound  tlu'  mad 
on  one  side,  and,  by  the  time  the  stage  has  reached  the  little  house  that  stands 
under  Willey  Mountain,  the  sunbeams  have  already  stolen  far  up  the  mountain.  A 
bugle    blown    at    this    spot    starts    the    echoes,    repeating    them    back    and    forth    licavitr 


il 


THE     WIIITI:    MO  ['\  7  A  INS. 


'59 


anil  louder  than  the  first  blast ;  one  almost  limcies  it  the  music  of  a  band  of  giants 
hidileii  among  the  trees  (jn  the  mountain-slope.  From  the  Willey  House  to  the 
jrate  of  the  Notch  the  path  becomes  constantly  narrower  and  sterner,  though  the  com- 
mon idea  of  the  awfulness  and  almost  horror  of  the  passage  of  this  portion  of  the 
journey  is  a  somewhat  erroneous  one.  The  slope  of  the  mountain -sides,  here  two 
thousand  feet  high,  is  very  abrupt,  and  the  narrow  ravine  is  nearly  unbroken  for  three  or 
four  miles,  till  one  has  passed  the  gate  of  the  Notch  ;  but,  comparing  this  point  with 
many  others,  its  picturesque  and  romantic  charm  is  the  predominant  impression.  The 
river  iioils  and  plunges  over  broken  rocks,  and  the  narrow  passage  for  the  stage  twists 
and  winds,  crossing  the  torrent  at  intervals  over  slender  bridges,  till,  Pt  the  gate  of 
the  Notch,  an  opening,  hardly  wide  enough  to  allow  the  passage  of  a  team  of 
horses,  and  the  raging  river,  is  bounded  on  each  side  by  a  sheer  wall  of  rock,  on  the 
|)rojections  of  which  harebells  and  maidcn's-hair  are  waving,  and  down  whose  steep  sides 
leap  the  tiny  waters  of  the  silver  cascade,  whose  course  can  be  detected  several  hun- 
dred  feet   up  the  side  of  Mount  Webster,  sparkling  in  the  sunlight. 

Passing  the  gate  of  the  Notch,  you  come  out  upon  a  little  plateau  of  a  few 
hundred  acres,  surrounded  by  hills,  except  at  its  upper  and  lower  ends,  which  form 
the  pass  of  tiie   mountains,  in   the   midst   of  which  stands   the  Notch  House. 

The  ascent  of  Mount  Washington — the  great  point  of  interest,  of  course — is  in 
many  respects  more  satisfactory  from  this  plateau  than  by  any  other  route,  as  it  gives 
a  iierson  really  fond  of  mountain-scenery  and  romantic  adventure  as  much  experience 
of  the  kind  as  is  agreeable,  without  becoming  wearisome.  To  one  unac(iuainted  with 
mountain-scenery,  the  ascent  by  the  bridle-pat''  horn  the  Crawford  Notch  afforils  more 
new  sensations  than  can,  perhaps,  be  gained  anywhere  else  in  this  region  in  so  few 
hours. 

After  breakfast  on  a  sunny  morning,  fresh  with  an  exhilaration  one  can  scarcely 
conceive  of  who  has  not  experienced  tiie  renovating  effect  of  mountain-air,  the  tourist — 
cijuipped,  if  he  be  a  prudent  person,  with  a  thick  corduroy  jacket,  procured  from  the 
iiotel ;  a  large,  coarse  hat  tied  firmly  under  the  chin  by  a  strong  cord ;  long,  thick  gloves, 
covering  hands  and  wrists,  and  heavy  underclothing — finds  upon  the  piazza  of  the  hotel 
a  party  accoutred  like  himself,  mingled  with  girls  in  fresh  morning-dresses,  young  men 
sauntering  about  with  cigars,  and  elderly  people  sitting  on  benches  and  rustic  seats, 
watciiing  the  party  set  off  for  the  mountain.  Interested  glances  are  cast  up  the  hill- 
sides, and  the  guides  and  old  stagers  arc  interrogated  as  to  what  may  be  the  chances 
of  the  weather.  Some  persons  tell  stories  of  their  au ventures  on  the  mountain  the  pre- 
vious day,  of  mists  that  have  caught  them,  winds  that  have  nearly  blown  them  from 
their  horses,  and  they  show  their  sunburnt  wrists,  and  freely  give  advice  about  the  way 
to  manage  or  let  one's  horse  manage  himself,  while  the  party  is  getting  ready  to  de- 
part.   A  couple   of  dozen    horses    and   three   or   four    guides  are   waiting   below,  among 


i6o 


PICTURESQUE   AAIERIC/^. 


whom  anxious  papas  and  nervous  .ladies  are  wandering,  engaging  a  particular  horse  that 
is  small  or  large,  and  a  guide  who  seems  particMlarly  good-natured  ann  knowing,  to  have 
an  especial  eye  to  them.  Some  of  the  tourists  are  already  on  l.orseback  walking 
around  and  trying  their  saddles;  and,  when  every  thing  is  in  readiness,  the  cavalcade  sets 
off  up  through  the  trees  with  which  Mount  Ciinton  is  covered  from  its  base  at  the  foot 
of  the  Crawford  House — looking,  in  their  motley  cos«:umes  of  red,  white,  and  blue,  like 
a  party  of  gypsies  winding  along  the  shady  wood-path,  which  ascends  two  thousand  feet 
during  the  first  two  or  three   miles,  through    a   boggy,  corduroy  path  so  steep  that  often 


TuckennaiiN    ka\'ini',    trtiiii    Hftnitt's    l.akc 


those  members  of  the  party  who  have  got  a  little  in  advance  of  the  others,  appiir  tc 
be  almost  overhead  when  they  arc  seen  emerging  upon  some  open  rock  which  Imaks 
the  forest.  Here  and  there  are  springs  of  most  delicious  cool  mountain-water,  where 
the   heated  horses  and  riders  stop  for  a  moment  to  drink. 

In  the  ascent  the  kind  of  trees  changes  eo.'stantly,  turning  from  tin-  yellow-birches, 
the  beeches,  with  mossy  trunks,  and  sugar-ma|)les,  in  the  valley,  where  are  also  nioi.n- 
tain-ash  trees,  aspen-pophfs,  and  striped  maples,  to  white-pine  and  hemlock,  white-iiirch 
and   .spruce,   and    balsam-fir,  hung    with    a    line   g-ay  moss,  much    like   that   which   diapes 


THE    WHITE    MOUNTAINS. 


i6i 


the  tiec'S  of  the  Southern  forests,  till  you  reacii  the  upland  with  an  arctic  vegetation 
and  a  sort  of  dwarf-fir,  so  intertangled  with  moss  that  you  can  often  walk  over  the  tops 
of  these  trees  as  if  over  thick  moss.  On  the  ground  is  an  undergrowth  of  ferns, 
brakes,  and  mountain-vines,  and  near  the  summit  of  Mount  Clinton  you  come  upon  a 
reiri'tn  of  dead  trees,  their  branches  and  trunks  bleached  and  whit"  as  ghosts,  until  you 
emerge  on  the  barren  summit  of  the  mountain. 

The  path  is  rather  to  the  north  of  the  top  of  Moun;  Clinton,  and  we  wind  around 
it  over  bare  rocks,  when  the  first  noble  mountain-prospect  opens  before  us.  In  front  is 
the  conical  peak  of  Kearsarge,  and  seemingly  quite  near  it  are  some  small,  shining  lakes 
amid  their  hazy  setting  of  mountains  ;  behind  rises  Mount  Willard  and  the  group  that 
surrounds  the  Notch,  the  clouds  chasing  wild  shadows  over  their  deep-blue  sides.  As 
we  begin  to  descend  to  the  narrow  ridge  which  unites  this  mountain  to  the  one  ne.xt  it, 
we  catch  a  glimpse  of  -x  valley  two  thousand  feet  below,  through  which  flows  the 
Mount-Washington  River  at  the  base  of  a  vast  forest.  On  the  left,  at  an  equal  depth, 
runs  tlic  Ammonoosuc,  and  you  gain  your  first  experience  of  mountain  peril  when  the 
iiorses,  planting  their  four  feet  close  together  on  some  rock  in  the  narrow  pathway, 
juni|)  from  this  rough  eleva'^ion  three  or  four  feet  to  the  rocks  beneath,  where  a  slip 
or  false  leap  would  precipitate  horse  and  rider  down  many  hundreds  of  feet  over  the 
side  of  the  mountain  to  sure  destruction.  The  mountain  on  its  almost  perpendicular 
eastern  slope  is  deeply  seamed  by  a  slide  which  happened  during  a  severe  storm  in 
1S57.  Passing  around  the  side  of  Mount  Monroe,  which  is  little  inferior  to  Mount 
W.ishington,  o'-.e  gazes  into  a  frightful  abyss,  kiiown  as  Bates's  (lulf  Clouds  and  masses 
of  vapor  hang  againit  its  precipitous  sides,  and  gigantic  rocks  strew  the  bottom  of  the 
Koige. 

From  Monroe  is  the  first  near  view  of  Mount  Washington,  which  rises  in  a  vast 
cone,  and  shines  with  bare,  gray  stones  fifteen  hundred  feet  above,  and  i.cross  a  wide 
plateau  strewed  with  great  numbers  of  bowlders.  This  elevated  plain  is  about  a  mile 
al)()\f  the  sea.  Patches  of  grass  and  hardy  wild-flowers  appear  in  the  crevices  of  the 
rotks,  aiu!  one  comes  ujioi:  small  "  tarns,"  or  mountain-|)onds,  here  and  there,  formed 
from  springs  or  by  the  frequent  storms  that  pass  over  these  high  regions.  The  "  Lake 
of  llie  Clouds,"  the  head-waters  of  the  Ammonoosuc,  is  the  most  beautiful  of  them. 
If  you  turn  aside  from  the  path  a  little  way,  the  most  wonderful  gorge  on  the  moun- 
tains, Tuckerman's  Kavitie,  lies  at  your  feet.  Having  crossed  the  plateau,  the  lasi  four 
or  five  hundred  feet  arc  best  climbed  on  foot,  for  the  stones  arc  so  loose,  and  the  ascent 
■^0  steep,  that  it  is  best  nt)t  to  trust  lo  horse-f'.esh.  The  rocks  arc  clean  cut  and  glisten- 
iiit^  as  if  fresh  from  the  quarry,  among  which  scarcely  a  living  thing  can  be  discovered  ; 
l>m,  liv-and-by,  as  one  eme.ges  upon  the  summit,  the  delicate  Alpine  plant  and  little 
white  flowers  appear  among  the  rocks.  On  the  top  of  the  mountair  one  can  easily  guard 
iiKainst    the  violence    of  the    blast    by  crouching    beneath    the   immense   rocks  which    are 

V 


l62 


PICTURESQUE    AMERICA. 


grouped  upon  its  surface.  Sitting  on  the  leeward  side  of  these  protections,  you  can  have 
a  view  more  extended  and  exciting  than  any  this  side  of  the  Rocky  Mountains.  A  sea 
of  mountains  stretches  on  every  hand ;  the  near  peaks,  bald  and  scarred,  are  clothed  with 
forests  black    i>nd   purple,  and   sloping    to  valleys   so   remote   as   to   be  ver)'  insigni'icant. 

Beyond  the  near  peaks,  grand 
and  solemn,  the  more  distant 
mountains  fall  away  rapidly 
into  every  tint  of  blue  and 
purple,  glittering  with  lakes 
till  the  eye  reaches  thf  sea- 
line  ninety  miles  away. 

The  -ummit  of  Mount 
Washington,  from  the-  ])lateaii 
at  the  Notch  House,  is  f.w 
thousand  feet  high,  and  this 
plateau  in  its  turn  is  fourteen 
or  fifteen  hundred  feet  al)()Vi 
the  sea.  The  traveller,  to  fuliv 
enjoy  the  view,  should  have  a 
clear  day,  without  too  mueh 
wind  ;  but,  as  no  weather  i< 
so  uncertain  as  the  wnathc  r  mi 
Mount  Washington,  oiu'  nia\ 
lie  pretty  sure,  in  tiu'  ("Iin 
"f  a  twelve  -  hours'  slay,  m 
have  fog  and  sunshiiif,  rain 
and  storm. 

Tuckerman's  Uavine  lies 
a  few  hundred  fcot  down  the 
side  of  the  mountain,  and  the 
ridges  in  its  rough,  cianjiv 
wall  form  the  faint,  pink-jrrav 
lines  'ihat  scar  the  summit  of 
Mount  Washington  as  seen 
at  North  Conway.  If  ih(re  i^ 
time,  one  can  visit  this  ravine  from  the  to|)  of  Mount  Washington,  and  by  a  '-liep 
climb  reach  the  summit  again  before  night   from  the  Snow  Arch. 

The  ravine  is  an  immense  gully   in  the  side  of   Moimt   Washington,  the   sttrp  sides 
of  which  storiTis  and  frost  are  ((.nstaiitiv  changintrt  so    that    no  vigciafion    has   a   .  h.ince 


Cryalal   Cucailr. 


ill 


THE    WHITE    MOUNTAINS. 


i6- 


to  take  root,  except  the  little  yearly  plant  whose  seeds  may  be  scattered  here,  for  the 
next  winter's  storms  are  sure  to  wash  away  the  scanty  growth.  Against  the  head  of 
the  ravine,  where  it  abuts  against  the  summit  of  Mount  Washington,  the  lofty  wall 
sparkles  with  a  thousand  streams  that  filter  through  its  crevices  or  run  over  its  sum- 
mit. The  Snow  Arch  is  formed  at  first  from  the  immense  snow-drifts  blown  over  the 
toi)  of  the  mountain,  which  settle  against  this  wall  of  the  ravine  in  ])iles  sometimes  a 
Inindred  feet  deep,  and  in  the  short  summer  of  this  great  altitude  scarcely  have  time  to 
li.clt  from  year  to  year. 

The  tourist  to  the  summit  of  Mount  Washington  may  descend,  if  he  chooses,  by 
the  carriage -road  to  the  glen,  which  is  aj^proached  from  Conway  through  the  Fink- 
ham  Notch,  that  runs  nearly  parallel  with  the  Willey  Notch,  north  and  south,  and  is 
separated  from  it  on  the  west  by  two  ranges  of  mountains.  Mount  Crawford  being 
one  y>i  the  peaks  ;  and,  on  the  other  side,  it  is  bounded  liy  Carter  Mountain  and  the 
raiiffe  of  Mount  Moriah.  The  stage  follows  the  course  of  the  Ellis  River,  which  con- 
nect.-, lliis  narrow  valley  with  the  broad  intervals  where  the  Ellis  joir.s  the  Saco,  till 
a  little  plateau  is  reached,  from  which  rise  the  whole  group  of  the  White  Mountains, 
witliout  any  intervening  peak  to  conceal  any  portion  of  them,  from  their  base  to  the 
summit— a  sheer  ascent  from  the  valley  of  more  than  five  thousand  feet. 

I  lere,  by  the  road-side,  not  very  remotely  set  in  the  forest,  is  the  Crystal  Cascade, 
whose  waters  fall  in  an  unbroken  sheet  from  the  summit  to  the  base  of  the  rock. 

It  is  a  wonderful  view  which  opens  before  the  tourist  when  he  enters  the  glen, 
either  fiom  Gorham,  by  the  course  of  the  Peabudy  River  or,  coming  from  Conway  and 
the  Saco  Valley,  through  the  wild  Pinkham  Notch,  by  the  rushing  Ellis,  with  its  (llen- 
1-ilis  I'alls,  one  of  the  famous  cascades  of  the  mountains.  The  fivt'  highest  mountains 
of  New  England  lie  before  him,  dense  forest  clothing  their  lower  Hanks,  the  n-vines, 
landslides,  and  windfalls  clearly  defined  ;  and  above  all  tower  their  desolate  peaks. 
These  little  plateaus,  scattered  here  and  there — at  the  Notch  House,  at  Eranconia,  and 
at  the  glen — seem  to  be  darker  than  ordinarv  jiiaces,  for  the  sky  is  cut  off  many 
anirles  above  the  horizon  on  evorv  hand,  antl  the  sun  hits  a  shorter  transit  across  ihe 
iliminished  heavens,  leaving  a  long  period  of  twilight  both  at  morning  and  evening, 
even  during  fair  weather;  but,  when  the  heavy  fog-banks  collect  on  these  lonely  moun- 
tain-sides, and  the  storm-c'ou  is  muster  over  every  i>eak,  the  impression  of  solitary  gloom 
is  nio^t  impressive. 

'!  here  is  no  spot  in  the  mountains  where  one  feels  more  keenly  than  here  the 
chanms  in  the  moods  of  Nature.  Watching  the  bright  streams  on  the  heights  so  far 
removed  from  man  on  the  silent  peaks,  with 


"  Nnrrowint;  ( iirvcs  that  mil  in  air," 
the  imagination  wanders,  till  one  scarcely  knows  what   part  of  the    impression    is   due   to 


1 64 


PICTURESQUE    AMERICA. 


its   excited   picturings,  and  what   is    derived   from  the   visible  world.      In   this   valley  lies 
the  Emerald    Pool,  a  sunny  basin,  bright  and  still. 

Leaving  Gorham,   and    following  the    stage-road    to   the  west,   you    soon  emerge  on 
a    hill-side,   leaving    the   Androscoggin   Valley  behind ;  nnd,  when   about   a   mile   up  this 


II 


Mount  Washington,  from   lop   of    ITiompson's    Inlls,   riiiklmm    I'uss. 

little  valley,  at  a  turn  in  the  road,  you  suddenly  lind  yourself  gazing  up  at  (he  ^tcep 
side  of  Mount  Madison,  which  rises  with  a  clear  sweep  from  its  base,  washcil  In  the 
rocky  Moose  River,  and  its  flanks  clothed  with  huge  forcst-trccs  to  its  gray  and  lucky 
summit.  Now  we  see  one  slope  of  (he  inounlain,  and  now  another,  as  the  road  winas 
along,  till  at    length    the    twin  peak    of   Mount    Adiims,  very  like    in    form    to    M.nli-^o'i 


THE     WHITE   MOUNTAINS. 


165 


neeps  over  one  of  the  immense  shoulders  of  Adams,  and  soon  its  sides  rise  to  view. 
Mount  Jefferson,  in  its  turn,  comes  in  sight,  and  the  deep  gullies  in  its  sides  and  its 
rocky  flanks  present  the  same  unbroken  and  satisfactor)'  slopes  which  had  made  Madison 
at  first  seem  quite  the  ideal  mountain  of  one's  imagination.  From  the  moment  this 
journey  is  commenced  at  the  hill-top  in  Gorham,  it  is  interesting,  but,  to  be  fully  en- 
joyed, it  should  be  taken  with  the  afternoon  light  purpling  the  mountain-sides,  and  when 
the  large,  picturesque  trees,  twisted  and  bent,  stand,  like  sentinels,  pre  filed  against  the 
broad,  soft  light  of  the  hills.  Driving  along,  one  flank  after  another  comes  into  view, 
shutting  off  the  previous  one,  filling  one  with  an  ever-new  surprise  at  the  number  and 
variety  of  these  mountains,  which  yet  are  always  immense  in  their  sweep  and  grand  in 
curve.  The  mountains  from  this  side  arc  much  more  abrupt  than  when  seen  on  their 
western  declivity,  and  the  rocky  structure  of  their  formation  is  more  conspicuous.  At  the 
Glen,  flanks  and  ravines  cut  up  the  sweep  of  the  hills,  but  here  they  rise  in  an  unbroken 
view  to  a  height  greater  than  the  walls  of  the  mountains  at  the  Willey  Notch,  and  far 
more  impressive.  Emerging  upon  the  road  at  Martin's,  where  now  stands  the  Mount- 
Adams  House,  you  see  the  whole  great  chain  of  the  chief  peaks,  theii  forests  speckled 
with  light,  and  apparently  so  near  that  one  almost  feels  like  putting  his  hand  upon 
their  flickering  sides  across  the  densely-wooded  ravine  which  winds  up  and  up  till  it  is 
lust  in  tiie  gray  distance  of  the  heights  of   Mount  Washington. 

Following  the  borders  of  the  Moose  River,  and  striking  across  the  Clicrry-Moun- 
tain  road  to  the  White-Mountain  House,  a  distance  of  thirty-two  miles  from  Gorham, 
and  leaving  Jefferson  behind,  with  the  Israel  River  that  conducts  to  the  Connecticut 
\'alky  and  to  Lancaster,  the  traveller  finds  himself  about  seven  miles  beyond  the 
Willey  Notch,  on  the  road  to  Franconia. 

From  the  Crawford  House,  on  its  little  plateau,  turning  northward,  the  road,  pass- 
ing through  dense  woods,  after  a  short  space  enters  the  little  valley,  through  which 
the  infant  stream  of  the  Ammonoosuc  issues  from  near  the  base  of  Mount  Monroe. 
Nothing  can  be  more  charming  than  the  trickle  of  waters  by  the  side  of  these  moun- 
lain-roads — "noises  ms  if  hidden  brooks  in  the  leafy  month  of  June" — when  the  stage 
toils  and  creaks  slowly  over  the  rocky  hills.  Wc  do  not  know  the  origin  of  the  val- 
1l'\s,  though  they  are  probably  volcanic,  and  the  roads  are  apparently  much  more  im- 
|inii;uu  than  the  little  streams  that  rush  along  beside  them,  seeming  like  mere  orna- 
ments to  the  landscape  ;  but,  whatever  their  apparent  usclessness,  these  mountain-toi- 
niits  have  carved  out  the  natural  roads  through  the  hills,  and  it  is  by  the  ridges  that 
hiiund  them  that  nearly  every  person  is  made  familiar  with  tiie  glories  and  beauties 
of  this  region. 

I'ollowing  along  the  Ammonoosuc,  the  forest  opens  here  and  there,  disclosing  the 
Uliite  Mountains  in  all  their  beautv,  until  at  the  White-Mountain  House,  beyond  the 
Ammonoosuc,  the  range  of  hills  that  connects  the  White    Mountains  with    the    Franco- 


1 66 


PICTURESQUE    AMERICA. 


Ilia  range,  rises  before  you.  This  stream,  whicii  is  often  named  the  wildest  in  New 
Hampshire,  on  account  of  the  rapid  flow  of  its  waters,  that  descend  more  than  a  mik 
between  its  source  and  where  it  joins  the  Connecticut,  is  broken  by  many  water-falls, 
that  gleam    among   the  trees  along  the  stage-road.     The    first   town   or  even  villagf  that 


Kmir.'ilil    I'lKil,   IValxxly-Rivci    lilcii. 

one  passes  after  leaving  Jackson  is  the  little  iiamlet  of  Hethiehetii,  crouched  closi' 
against  a  high,  broad  plateau,  with  great  ranges  of  hills  bounding  it  on  everv  side. 
Along  the  valley  toward  the  eastward  rise  the  White  Mountains  and  their  attendant 
ranges;  on  the  south,  the  range  of  the  I'>aneonia  Mountains  and  Mount  Lafavctte, 
towering   majestically  abov(;   the    rest,  shut    in    the    plain :   while  to  the  north   appe.u    lif 


vii;i.;..4S!s& 


THE    WHITE    MOUNTAINS. 


167 


mountains  of  Vermont.  At  one's  feet  on  every  side  lie  the  valleys,  and  above  this 
plain  rise  the  niountain-pe  .ks.  Removed  from  the  solemn  gloom  of  the  ravines,  and 
from  tiie  exciting  impressiveness  of  the  mountain-tops,  it  would  seem  that  dwellers  in 
tiiese  elevated  homes  among  the  hills  might  have  a  healthier  and  sercner  life  than  any- 
body else. 

r.caving  Ik-thlehem,  the  road  winds    over  a  hill-top,  and  then  descends  into   the  val 
ley  of  tlu'  Ammonoosuc,  through  which  it  winds  its  way  till  it  reaches  the  narrow  gorge, 
tlirouiili  which  a  branch    of  this  river   forces   itself  down ;  and   the   steep,  difficult    ascent 
hcfiins  into  the  Franconia  Notch. 

The  Franconia  range,  though  of  the  same  group  of  hills  as  the  rest,  has  a  charac- 
ter as  distinct  from  the  austere  forms  of  the  White-Mountain  range  as  from  the  soft 
swells  (if  the  Green  Mountains  of  Vermont,  and  is  eminently  charming  and  picturesque. 

A  little  way  from  the  Profile  House  the  traveller  finds  himself  beside  the  Echo 
Lak(,  surrounded  by  hills,  with  Mount  Lafayette,  the  highest  peak  of  any  in  that  re- 
gion, overlooking  it : 

"  Mountains  that  like  giants  stand, 
To  sentinel  enchanted   land." 

In  a  fresh,  cool  morning,  after  a  good  night's  rest  under  the  comfortable  roof 
of  the  Profile  House,  you  wander  down  to  the  little  pebbly  beach  that  edges  the 
lake-shore.  Green  woods  tangled  over  your  head  protect  you  from  the  heat  of  the  sum- 
nur  sun,  and  before  you  lies  this  little  lake,  each  mountain  clearly  reflected  in  its  pure 
tlcpths  as  if  in  a  mirror.  While  you  sit  enjoying  the  ([uiet  beauty  of  the  scene,  and 
watching  one  or  two  eagles  circling  about  the  near  hills,  a  note  from  a  bugle  sounds  from 
tlu'  little  boat  that  takes  passengers  to  the  miildle  of  the  lake.  Immediately  the  echo 
ivpeats  itself  against  the  mountain-side,  and,  jumping  from  |)oint  to  point,  almost  in- 
stantly the  woods  seem  filled  with  a  band  of  musicians  till  the  echoes  fade  off  and  off: 


"Oh,  hark!     Oh,  hear!     How  thin   and  clear. 
And    thinner,  clearer,   farther  noinj;; 
Oh,  sweet    and  far  from    cliff  and   scaur 

The   horns   of  elf-land   faintly  blowing  I 
Wow,  let   us   hear   the   purple  gUns  roplying, 
DIow,  bugle  :   answer,  echoes  dying,  dying,  dying !  " 


Leaving  the  lake,  .ind  following  the  path  that  leads  back  to  thi  Profile  House, 
you  come  to  the  broken,  scaried  wall  of  Eagle  (Miff,  that  rises  directly  in  front  of  the 
hotel.  I\agles  build  their  nests  here,  whence  its  name,  and  there  are  various  traditions 
of  cliiidrcn  and  lambs  being  snatched  away  and  borne  up  tf)  their  lofty  eyries.  At  Fran- 
conia there  seems  to  be  a  natural  impulse  to  quote  poetry,  and  echoes  of  measured  strait^ 


f  i 


1 68 


PICTURESQUE    AMERICA. 


-i 


Profile    Mountain. 


beat  time  to  the  pulses  of  light 
in  the  stirring  tree-tops  or  to 
the  rippling  rivulets.  If  you  love 
Scott,  you  can  hardly  fail  to  have 
different  bits  of  his  verse  run- 
ning through  your  head  when 
you  see — 

"  Crags,    knolls,    and    mounds,    confusedly 
hulled. 
The   frafiments   of  an   earlier  world, 
A  wilderiilg  forest   feathered   o'er 
His    ruined   side  and  summit   hoar." 

Nearly  opposite  Eagle  Cliff, 
Profile  Mountain  rises  abruptly 
from  the  margin  of  a  little  lake 
familiarly  known  as  the  "  Old 
Man's  Wash-basin,"  covered  with 
forest-trees  far  up  its  side,  over 
which,  looking  down  the  val- 
ley from  its  lofty  position,  near- 
ly two  thousand  feet  up  the 
mountain,  appears  the  wonder 
of  this  region,  the  "  Old  Stone 
Face,"  as  firmly  defined  as  if 
chiselled  by  a  sculptor.  Haw- 
thorne has  thrown  over  thi*; 
natural  object  a  charm  as  much 
greater  than  others  have  felt,  as 
his  genius  was  more  sublic  and 
penetrating  than  that  of  tlic  rude 
dwellers  of  these  regions,  to 
whom  yet  the  "Face"  a])i)ears 
always  to  have  suggested  an  idea 
of  something  mysterious.  Hie 
rocks  of  which  it  is  fornuti  are 
three  blocks  of  granite  so  set 
together  as  to  form  an  c)ver- 
hanging  brow,  a  powerful,  elear- 


% 


THE    WHITE    MOUNTAINS. 


169 


Iv-defiiied  nose,  and  a  chin  sharp  and  decisive.  Many  of  the  pictures  made  on  rocks  by 
fissures  and  discolorations  require  an  effort  of  tlie  imajrinatiun  to  make  out  any  mean- 
ing from  the  tangle  of  involved  lines.  Such  are  the  figures  on  the  ledge  at  Conway, 
and  the  Indian  Chief  on  one  of  the  mountains  in  the  Notch.  "  Arm-chairs,"  "  Graves," 
and  "  Scats,"  are  always  being  pointed 
out,  and  give  little  satisfaction  to  eye 
or  mind;  but  this  view  of  the  old 
man's  profile  is  startling,  and  requires 
no  description  or  suggestions  to  make 

it  .;al. 

Following  the  course  of  the  Pemi- 
gewassett,  whose  source  is  in  the 
"Old  Man's  Wash-basin,"  as  that  of 
its  sister-stream  the  Ammonoosuc  is 
in  Echo  Lake,  with  only  the  rise  of  a 
little  mound  between  them  to  turn 
the  waters  north  or  south,  one  comes 
upon  beautiful  cascades,  where  the  lit- 
tle stream  rushes  over  its  rocky  bed, 
fashioning  itself  as  it  moves  along 
throuiih  green  moss,  wet  at  noonday 
with  the  spray  from  the  falling  water, 
till  you  come  to  the  Flume  House, 
wiRR'  the  narrow  gorge  of  the  Femi- 
iffwassctt  River  widens  out  to  the 
long.  Mowing  sweep  of  the  open  valley 
that  closes  no  more,  but  sweeps  down 
amid  constantly  lower  hills  till  it  reach- 
es the  sea,  and  tiie  wild  woods  with 
their  i)eauty  arc  left  behind  in  the 
mountains.  Leaving  the  main  stage- 
KKid  It  the  Flume  House,  you  strike 
into  a  rough  wagon-path,  following  it 
uheii'  the  sound  of  falling  water  at- 
tracts vou  not  in  vain. 

Here  you  come  upon  smooth,  flat  rocks,  over  which  flows  the  pure,  colorless 
sheet  of  the  mountain-water.  Above  this  rocky  .stairway  the  water  dashes  over  a  green, 
mossy  bed,  the  rich  hues  of  which  are  seen  in  the  sparkling  sunshine  that  penetrates 
helow   the    flood,    revealing   the    golden    and    amber    tints   on    sand    and     pebbly    floor. 


The    I'luinc. 


170 


PICTURESQUE    AMERICA. 


CUIFFS     ABOVE     DISMAL     POOL. 


Above  this  mossy  bed  we  reach 
a  fissure  in  the  hill,  with  steep, 
rocky  sides  fifty  feet  or  more  in 
elevation  and  hundreds  of  feet 
long,  narrowing  at  its  upper 
end  till  it  is  only  ten  or  twelve 
feet  wide.  Stepping  from  one 
stone  to  another,  and  then 
threading  the  narrow  footpath, 
crossing  and  recrossing  the  ra- 
vine, alternately  climbing  rocks 
and  traversing  rude  tree-trunks 
thrown  across  for  bridges,  at 
length  a  little  point  is  gained 
in  the  narrowest  part  of  the 
ravine.  The  rocky  walls  are 
dark,  and  the  little  stream 
bounds  along  between  tliem. 
Emerald  mosses  hang  from  the 
sharp  angles  of  the  Icdfje  or 
from  the  tree -trunks  on  its 
side.  Just  above  the  place 
where  you  are  standing,  a  huge 
bowlder  is  wedged,  seemingly 
just  ready  to  slip  from  its  un- 
certain resting-place,  and  this  is 
the  famous  Flume. 

The  cliffs  above  Dismal 
Pool,  near  the  Oawford  1  louse 
and  the  Willey  Notch,  are 
among  the  loftiest  and  stee])est 
to  be  found  in  the  mountains. 
Our  illustration  gives  a  very 
good  impression  of  these  stu- 
pendous precipices. 

The  White  Mountains  are 
even  yet  not  fully  explored, 
and  every  year  adds  some  new 
mountain-pond,  another  cascade 


THE    WHITE  MOUNTAINS. 


'7> 


or  a  ^^Il'h,  unseen  till  now,  to  the  multitude  of  charming  spots,  which,  with  their  com- 
posite abSQciations,  make  this  region  delightful.  Among  these  places,  nmi  in  comparison 
with  tin-  Willey  Pass  or  Mount  Washington,  is  the  Dixville  Notch. 

This  remarkable  pass,  which  has  only  recently  attracted  much  attention,  is  in  a  group 
of  hills  some  si.xty  miles  to  the  north  of  the  White  Mountains;  and,  though  as  yet 
but  imperfectly  explored,  the  region  is  known  to  abound  in  scenery  of  the  finest  kind. 
Even  the  White  Mountains,  it  is  said,  do  not  surpass  it  in  sublimity  and  desolate  and 
wild  grandeur. 

Following  the  track  of  the  Grand  Trunk  Railroad  by  its  course  along  the  Andros- 
co-rgiii.  lit  length  the  train  turns  into  the  more  cheerful  valley  of  the  Connecticut 
River  till  you  come  to  North  Siratford.  Here  a  stage  conveys  you  to  Colebrook,  a 
flourishing  village  on  the  New-Hampshire  side  of  the  Connecticut,  from  which  you  can 
easily  reach  the  Dixville  range  of  hills,  which  are  only  ten  miles  from  the  village.  The 
road  li'  >  through  the  best  farming  region  t)f  Ne\\-  Hampshire,  and  a  person  would 
never  imagine  there  could  be  mountain-scenery  of  any  degree  of  impressiveness  near  at 
hand.  Suddenly  the  heavy  walls  of  the  Dixville  Mountains  show  themselves,  rising 
like  thunder-clouds  above  the  tree-tops  of  the  forest.  While  you  are  admiring  the 
gloomy  sides  of  these  hills,  covered  by  dark  woods,  a  turn  in  the  road  brings  you  in 
front  (if  the  savage  opening  of  the  Notch  at  its  west  end — a  region  of  vast  and  mys- 
terious desolation.  The  pass  is  narrower  than  either  one  of  the  great  Notches  of  the 
White  Hills,  and  the  scenery  is  much  bolder  and  sublimer. 

Nothing  can  give  an  adequate  impression  of  these  bare  and  decaying  cliffs,  which 
shoot  out  into  fantastic  and  angular  projections  on  every  side.  The  side-walls  of  this 
narrow  ravine — for  it  can  scarcely  be  called  a  pass — are  strewed  with  di'bris.  The  only 
plant  that  appears  to  have  maintained  itself  is  the  raspberry-vine.  The  great  distinctive 
feature  of  this  Notch  is  barrenness ;  and  very  great  is,  therefore,  the  transition  of 
feeling  from  desolation  and  gloom,  when  you  ride  out  from  its  slaty  teeth  into  a 
most  lovely  plain  called  the  Clear-Spring  Meadows,  embosomed  in  mountains,  wooded 
luxuriantly  from  base  to  crown.  It  is  in  this  Notch  that  you  come  upon  one  of  the 
most  eliaracteristic  formations  of  this  region — Column  Rock. 

Tiie  glories,  the  beauties,  the  delights  of  this  wild  region  might  be  dwelt  upon  for 
months  and  fill  volumes,  but  little  suggestions  and  slight  hints  are  all  that  our  space 
will  allow  us  to  give.  We  shall  close,  therefore,  with  repeating  the  advice  of  Starr 
King,  the  ^^icat  authority  about  the  White  Mountains,*  who  declares  that  the  right  time 
to  visit  them  is  in  the  early  summer:  "From  the  middle  of  June  to  the  middle  of  July, 
foli;ige  is  more  fresh  ;  the  cloud-scenery  is  nobler ;  the  meadow-grass  has  a  more  golden 
color;  the  streams  are  usually  more  full  and   musical;   and   there   is   a    larger    proportion 


f 

i 

w 


•  "The  White  Hills."     By    Ihomas  Starr  King. 


172 


PICTURESQUE  AMERICA. 


of  the  '  loii^  liglit '  of  the  afternoon,  wliicli  kindles  tlie  landseape  into  the  richest  loveij. 
ncss.  The  mass  of  visitors  to  tiie  White  Mountains  ^o  durinfj  the  dog-days,  and  leave 
when  the  finer  September  weather  sets  in  with  its  prelude  touches  of  the  October 
splendor.  In  August  there  are  fewer  clear  skies;  there  is  more  fog;  the  meadows  are 
apparelhnl  in  more  sober  green  ;  the  highest  rocky  crests  may  be  wrapped  in  mists  for 
days  in  succession  ;  and  a  traveller  has  fewer  chances  of  making  acquaintance  with  a 
bracing  mountain-breeze.  The  latter  half  of  June  is  the  blossom-season  of  beauty  in  the 
mountain-districts  ;   the  first   half  of  October  is  the  time  of  its  full-hued   fruitage." 


('nlumn  Rock,   Uixville    Notch. 


...j^ji.  ..i-.mn-i 


THE    NEVERSINK    HIGHLANDS. 


WITH    ILLUSTRATIONS    UY    GRANVILLK    I'KRKINS. 


■.'ZS^DWa^S^r' 


iM 


Mouth   of  the   Shrewsbury    River. 


''T^HE  Neversink  Highlands  have  the  post  of  honor  among  the  American  hills.  They 
-■-  stand  near  the  principal  portal  of  the  continent — the  first  land  to  greet  the 
curious  eyes  of  the  stranger,  and  to  cheer  the  heart  of  the  returning  wanderer.  The 
beauty  of  these  wooded  heights,  the  charming  villas  that  stud  their  sides,  the  grace  of 
tluir  undulating  lines,  give  to  the  traveller  prompt  assurance  that  the  cou-trv  he  visits 
is  not  only  blessed  with  rare  natural  beauty,  but  that  art  and  culture  have  suitably 
adorned  it.  The  delight  with  which  the  wearied  ocean-voyager  greets  the  shores  that 
first  rise  upon  the  horizon  has  often  been  described ;  but,  when  these  shores  have  a  rare 
sylvan  beauty  that  opens  hour  by  hour  to  view  as  the  vessel  drav/s  near — when,  instead 
of  frowning  rocks  or  barren  sands,  he  beholds  noble  hills  clothed  to  their  brows  with 
green  forests,  fields  and  meadows  basking  with  summer  beauty  in  the  sun,  cottages  nes- 
tling amid  shmbbery,  and  spires  lifting  above  clustering  tree-tops — the  picture  possesses 
a  cliarm  which  only  he  who   first    beholds  it   can    fully  realize.     It  is  such  a  green  para- 


^4 


THE    NEVERSINK    HIGHLANDS. 


^n 


disc  tliat  the  Neversink   Hills  oflcr  to  the  gaze  of  every  ocean-wanderer  who  enters  the 
luirbor  of  New  York. 

These  highlands  arc  situated  in  New  Jersey,  extending  several  miles  along  the  coast 
in  a  southerly  direction.  At  their  feet  Hows  the  Shrewsbury  River ;  beyond  the  river 
stretches  a  narrow  strip  of  sand,  upon  wiiich  the  surf  of  the  Atlantic  ceaselessly  beats. 
This  strip  or  tongue  of  sand  extends  northerly  into  the  sea,  somewhat  beyond  the  reach 
of  the  hills,  \v'.ii(  n,  suddenly  trending  westward,  form,  in  connection  with  the  Hook,  what 
is  known  as  Sandy-Hook   Bay.     Tiie  slii|)  entering  from  the  sea  stretches  past  this  point 


View    from   the    llighlanilt. 

ol  sMul.  leavins,'  llic  iiills  to  the  left  ;  l)uf  from  lluii  receding  forms  the  voyager  soon 
\w\\\<  In  greet  the  rising  shores  of  .Staten  island.  There  are  two  distinct  bays  to  the 
hailini  of  New  York.  Staten  Island  and  Long  Island  apitroach  each  other  closely,  and 
lieiur.ii  them  runs  a  small  strait,  known  as  the  Narrows,  which  affords  entrance  (o  the 
i'lnti  hav;  the  outer  bav,  or  Lower  Hay,  as  it  is  eommt)nly  called,  has  upon  its  left 
lite  low.  sandy  shores  of  Long  Isiantl.  upon  its  right  a  deei>  estuary,  between  the 
New-Jersty  and  .Staten-Island  shoies,  known  as  Uaritan  Hay.  Shrewsbury  River,  which 
is  proliabiy  more  an  estuary  than  a  river,  enteis  tlu  sea  betw^^'en  Raritan  Hay  and 
the   l|(K»k.      Travellers    proceeding   by    the   vSouthern    Railroad    of    New   Jersey,  or  the 


i;6 


PICTURESQUE    AMERICA. 


pleasure-party  visiting  tiie  famous  watering-place  of  Long  Branch,  land  from  the  steam- 
boat at  Sandy  Hook.  The  railroad  runs  along  the  narrow  strip  of  sand,  already  men- 
tioned, that  separates  the  river  from  the 
ocean,  giving  the  passengers  charming  views 
of  the  hills,  such  as  that  delineated  in  the 
steel-plate  engraving  accompanying  this  ar- 
ticle. Put  the  visitor  who  explores  the 
river  by  boat  enters  its  plcpsant  waters  with 
iieautiful,  villa-adorned  hills  to  the  right,  as 
illustrated  in  our  initial  engraving,  and 
courses  along  at  their  feet,  admiring  the 
highlands  as  they  lift  above  him  on  one 
side,  and  the  superb  stretch  of  sea  on  the 
other,  the  view  of  which  the  intervening 
strip  of  sand  scarcely  obst.ucts.  Rntering 
the  river  thus,  we  soon  reach  "  Beacon  Hill," 
crowned  by  a  double-towered  light-house  fur- 
nished with  "  l-'resnel "  lights  of  remarkaiilc 
capacity.  The  square  tower  has  the  most 
powerful  light  on  the  coast,  the  rays  of 
which  reach  a  distance  of  thirty-hvc  miles, 
or  as  far  as  the  altitude  of  the  tower  lifts 
the  horizon.  This  light  gives  the  mariner 
the  lirst  intimation  of  his  nearness  to  our 
shores,  just  as  the  green  slopes  of  the  hiil 
it  surmounts  greet  him  with  the  iirst  show 
of  land.  This  magnificent  light  is  of  1  reneh 
cimstruction,  was  exhibited  and  secnml  the 
prize  at  the  great  I'Ven'.'h  I'Lxpositidu,  and 
was  purchased  by  our  goverimient  at  a  co'-t 
of  thirty  thousand  dollars.  The  light  in 
the  corresponding  tower  was  manufu  iiircii 
in  imitation  of  it,  and,  although  u|miii  the 
same  principle,  is  scaic--'ly  so  powcihl.  A 
visit  to  this  light-house  will  rep.w  n  ;  the 
view  from  the  tower  is  superb,  ani  ihe 
magnificent  lenses  of  the  lamp  an  wd! 
worth  our  curious  attention.  The  obliging  light-house  keeper  will  draw  the  curtail!,  and 
show,  reflected  upon  the  convex  central  crystal,  Ui.  exquisite  miniature  of  all  the  e\|iansp 


he  steani- 
^idy  r.ien- 
froni  the 
ling  views 
ed  in  tiie 
(  Itiis  ar- 
)iorcs  the 
aters  with 
:  riirht,  as 
ving,  am) 
lirini!:  the 
n  on  one 
;a  Dii  the 
ntervenini; 
Entcriiiir 
con  II ill," 
house  fur- 
•emarkai)k 
till'  nid-'t 
;  lavs  ol 
liv<'  mile- 
tower  lilb 
e  mariner 
ss  to  our 
f  the  hill 
first  show 
of  I'reneli 
'Ciireil  the 
itinii,  anil 
at  ,1  eiiM 
liuhl  in 
luil.ii  liireil 
ii|M.ii  the 
I'cifiil.  A 
y  us ;  the 
and  the 
are  well 
rtain,  ami 
e  cxiianse 


I 


^^ 


N. 


^ 


.^v 


s^ 


^ 


«  f 


P/3 


THE   NEVERSINK   HIGHLANDS. 


177 


Boat-I^anding. 


W" 


Kairhaven. 


178 


P/C  TURESQ  UE    A  M ERICA. 


of  land   and   sea  and  sky— such  a  landscape  as  the  most  gifted  painter  would  despair  of 
being  able  to  imitate. 

Just  beyond  Beacon  Hill  is  the  little  town  of  Highlands,  where  the  hotels  most 
do  congregate.  Here  there  is  every  charm  to  seduce  the  town-lorn  citizen  from  his 
weary  streets.  He  may  wander  amid  the  Icafv  retreats  of  the  hill,  once  peopled  by  deer 
and  other  creatures  of  the  woods,  and  now  such  a  forest  as  that  of  Arden  could  scarcelv 
excel  ;   or  he  may  sail  on  the  smooth  waters  of   the  river,  and   cast   his  line   for  tlic  bass 


Calking    mi    tlit    >'.'vcrsink. 

and  the  blue-lish  ;  or,  crossing  to  the  saml\-  beach  where  the  surf  of  the  wide  ocean  rolls 
m  upon  him,  plunge  into  the  breakers  until  his  heart  and  his  muscles  gather  freshness 
and  strength  from  the  brief  battle  with  Old  Ocean.  It  is  a  delicious  and  sometimes  a 
stirring  |)icture  that  may  be  seen  from  tlusi'  hills.  One  may  sit,  fanned  by  great  trees, 
Mihalmg  the  odors  of  grass  and  woods,  and  wateli  the  far  e.xpanse  of  sea,  on  the  surliicc 
of  which  ships  ceaselessly  come  and  go;  and  then  at  limes  rises  the  storm,  ami  the 
fierce    breakers    come    tumb)ing    in    upon    the    beach  with  a  wild   roar,  bursting  high  into 


THE   NEVE  RSI NK   HIGHLANDS. 


179 


the   air   in    spray,   while    tiie    ships   go    rushing    by   with    furled   sails   like   great,   fright- 
ened birds. 

Our  course  lies  along  under  these  hills,  the  river  continuing  narrow ;  but  soon  it 
widens,  and  presently  we  find  two  forks— one  that  keeps  close  along  the  sea,  another 
that  trends  a  little  way  inland.  These  forks  are  known  locally  as  South  and  West 
Shrewsbury  Rivers,  but  the  geographies  set  down  the  southern  fork  as  Shrewsbur)' 
River,  and  the  western  one  as  Neversink   River.      The  latter  is  the  most  picturesque  and 


Mending   Nets   im    llic   Neversink. 


attractive,  and  it  is  the  one  our  artist  has  followed.  On  both  sides  of  flu-  river  we  now 
have  wooded  shores,  while  the  river  broadens  frequently  into  bays  that  are  as  handsome 
and  nearly  as  wide  as  those  of  the  Hudson.  All  along  there  are  pleasant  cottages,  and 
on  the  distant,  sloping  hills  cultivated  farms.  There  are  picturesciue  landings  at  little 
whar\'cs  thrust  out  from  high,  wooded  banks ;  there  are  (piaint  little  houses  close  to 
the  liver-shore,  hiding  away  among  trees;  there  is  a  club-house,  with  its  array  of  boats; 
and  presently  we  come  to  the  busy  centre  of  the  great  oyster-breeding  region.     The  pleas- 


THE    NEVE  RSI NK   HIGHLANDS. 


i8i 


ant  village  of  Fairhaven  is  an  outgrowth  of  the  oyster  business.  The  river  here  is 
broad  and  shallow ;  the  oyster-beds  abound  in  great  numbers,  and  at  the  proper  season 
whole  fleets  of  boats  are  engaged,  at  one  time  in  planting,  at  another  in  gathering  the 
wealth  of  the  river-bed.  The  oysters  planted  here  are  mostly  brought  from  Virginia ; 
and,  as  the  Virginia  oysters  are  notoriously  among  the  finest  in  the  world,  this  fact  may 
account  for  the  favor  which  the  Shrewsbury  product — we  never  hear  of  Neversink  oys- 
ters—enjoys in  our  market.  Not  only  oystermen,  but  fishermen,  are  numerous  here, 
for  tills  estuary  affords  rare  fishing-grounds ;  and  everywhere  are  evidences  that  the  river 
yields  rich  rewards  to  those  who  depend  upon  it.  The  houses,  if  rarely  splendid,  are  in 
no  instances  poor  or  squalid,  while  the  greater  number  are  charming  cottages  surrounded 
by  many  evidences  of  thrift  and  taste.  The  shores  here  are  interestingly  varied  by  scenes 
of  picturesque  industry  connected  with  the  pursuits  of  the  people  ;  here  may  be  seen  a 
group  of  fishermen,  mending  their  extended  nets;  there,  a  boat  turned  up  on  the  beach, 
undergoing  repairs ;  and  these  little  insights  into  the  occupations  pursued  amid  these 
sylvan  scenes  are  not  without  their  charm. 

We  soon  reach  the  most  important  town  on  the  river.  Red  Bank  lies  at  the  head 
of  navigation,  and  yet  is  situated  on  a  water-course  of  wide  expanse.  It  is  probably  the 
termination  of  the  estuary,  while  the  little  stream  that  flows  through  narrow  gorges 
and  shadowy  forests  beyond,  is  all  that  may  strictly  be  called  a  river.  Red  Bank  is,  in 
every  sense,  a  pretty  village,  and,  what  perhaps  is  better,  a  thriving  one.  Without  lifting 
so  high  as  near  the  mouth  of  the  river,  the  hills  here  are  very  charming,  spreading  away 
in  flowing,  undulating  lines,  and  dipping  to  the  water  with  many  a  sylvan  grace.  It  is 
a  town  built  up  in  the  interests  that  pertain  to  a  great  metropolis,  being  a  sort  of 
entrepot  for  a  large  agricultural  country,  the  products  of  which  centre  here  for  transpor- 
tation to  the  city.  In  1830,  only  two  houses  stood  upon  its  present  site;  and  now  its 
avenues  of  cottages  and  villages  extend  for  miles,  while  whole  fleets  of  vessels  are  occu- 
pied in  its  commerce.  It  is  a  village  without  "  slums,"  or  unpleasant  quarters ;  poverty 
would  seem  to  be  unknown  within  its  borders.  Its  streets  are  shaded  with  arching  trees, 
and  lined  with  neat  cottages;  and  all  the  prospects  from  the  place  are  full  of  pleasant- 
ness. Handsome  villas  front  the  main  avenues,  the  rear  windows  of  which  overlook  the 
river  and  the  green  shores  of  its  opposite  boundary.  Rarely  do  we  find,  in  an  American 
town,  this  union  of  thrift  and  beauty;  for  usually,  where  enterprise  consents  to  inspire  a 
people,  its  energy  leaves  rude  gashes  upon  the  landscape. 

This  section  has  little  legendary  or  historical  interest.  It  is  included  in  Monmouth 
County,  and  hence  it  is  near  the  scene  of  the  famous  battle  of  Monmouth,  of  the  Revo- 
lution ;  and  it  wa?  infested,  during  that  momentous  struggle,  with  predatoiy  bands,  who 
made  general  warfare  upon  the  people.  Its  best  legendary  interest  is  derived  from  the 
pages  of  Fenimore  Cooper's  "  Water  Witch,"  many  of  the  scenes  of  which  were  laid  in 
Sandy-Hook  Bay  and  upon  the  adjacent  Neversink  Hills.    The  reader  of  this  delightful 


182 


PICTURESQUE    AMERICA. 


m 


romance — the  most  truly  imaginative  that  came  froin  tlic  pen  of  Cooper — will  recall  the 
strangely-named  villa  "  Lust  in  Rust,"  built  by  the  smuggling  Dutch  alderman  upon  one 
of  these  elevations,  and  the  strange  adventures  of  the  Water-witch,  guided  by  the  mys- 
terious sea-green  lady,  which  glidotl  in  and  out  of  a  secret  inlet  then  existing  near  thu 
Hook,  to  the  vast  mystification  of  its  pursuers.  We  learn  that  several  times  the  sea  has 
broken  through  the  sandy  stretch  of  land,  making  the  Hook  an  island  ;  such  an  inlet 
existed  in   1798,  which  closed  in   1800,  and  opened  again  in   1830. 

In  regard  to  the  designation  of  these  hills,  there  exists  a  fearful  orthograpiiical 
confusion.  The  word  is  sometimes  spelled  Navasink,  sometimes  Navisink,  then  airain 
as  Ni'ziisink,  and  lastly  as  Ncvcrsink.  The  correct  method  can  be  determined  only  by  a 
knowledge  of  its  origin,  and  of  this  there  appears  to  be  some  doubt.  Nnvasink  is 
supposed  to  be  an  Indian  word,  meaning  "  fishing-place,"  and,  of  course,  applied  to  the 
river;  but  others  claim  that  this  is  simply  a  common  instance  of  a  natural  desire  to 
iind  an  aboriginal  root  for  our  nomenclature,  and  that  the  term  is  really  Ncvcrsink,  hav- 
ing been  bestowed  by  the  sailors,  as  expressive  of  the  long  time  which  these  hills 
remain  in  view  to  the  outward  voyager.  There  is  more  romance  and  originality  in 
the  Indian  term,  but,  so  far,  the  weight  of  authority  does  not  appear  to  be  in  its  favor. 


OKI    UriJge,   near    Ked    Hank. 


ST.    AUGUSTINE,    FLORIDA. 


WITH    ILLUSTRATIONS    liV    HARRY    I'ENN. 


'T^HE  quaint  little  city  of  St.  Aujjustine, 
-■■  i'lorida,  the  oldest  European  settlement 
in  the  United  States,  is  situated  on  the  At- 
lantic coast,  in  a  narrow  peninsula  formed  by 
the  Sebastian  and  Matanzas  Rivers,  on  the 
west  side  of  a  harbor  which  is  separated  from 
the  ocean  by  the  low  and  narrow  island  of, 
Anastasia.      It  lies  about  forty  miles  south  of 

the  nioutii  of  the  j^reat  river  St.  John's,  and   about    one    hundred    and    sixty  miles  south 
from  Savannah,  in  Georgia. 

St.  Augustine  was  founded  by  the  Spaniards  in  1565,  more  than  half  a  century 
before  tlie  landing  of  the  Pilgrims  at  Plymouth,  and  was  from  the  start  a  place  of  note, 
and  the  scene  of  interesting  historical  events.  Its  founder,  Don  Pedro  Menendez,  was 
one  of  the  most  eminent  men  of  Spain,  and  a  famous  commander  during  the  reign  of 
l^hilip  II.,  by  whom  he  was  sent  to  Florida  at  the  head  of  an  expedition  comprising 
thirty-four  vessels  and  two  thousand  six  hundred  persons,  to  colonize  the  country  and 
suppress  a  Huguenot  settlement  made  in  1564  near  the  mouth  of  the  St.  John's.  He 
landed  at  St.  Augustine  on  August  28,   1565,  established   his   colony,  and    then   marched 


j84 


PICTURESQUE   AMERICA. 


iliiW  '< 


to  exterminate  the  Huguenots,  which  lie  efTocted  with  great  vigor  and  cruelty,  puttiii); 
to  death  all  his  prisoners,  "  not  because  they  are  Frenchmen,  hut  because  thty  are 
heretics  and  enemies  of  God."  Two  years  later,  this  massacre  was  avenged  b)-  a  French 
adventurer,  Dominique  de  (lourgues,  who,  with  a  small  force  of  volunteers,  attacked  and 
captured  the  Spanish  forts  on  the  St.  John's,  and  hanged  his  prisoners,  "  not  because  thn 
are  Spaniards,  but  because  they  are  traitors,  robbers,  and  murderers."  De  Gourjjucs, 
however,  made  no  attempt  to  retain  his  conquest,  but,  after  his  deed  of  retribution  was 
accomplished,  sailed  back  to  F'rance. 

Menendez  was  absent  in  Spain  during  this  attack  by  De  Gourgues,  and  did  not 
return  until  the  affair  was  over.  He  continued  for  some  years  longer  to  rule  the  coionv, 
but  finally  returned  to  Spain,  where  his  reputation  for  ability  was  so  higii  that  lie  was 
made  cajitain-general  of  the  navy,  soon  after  wiiich  he  died,  at  the  age  of  fifty-fivr.  His 
career  in  Florida,  though  stained  with  cruelty,  was  distinguished  for  energy  and  porsi- 
verance,  ant!  to  him,  undoubtedly,  is  due  the  credit  of  estal)lisliing  the  first  peimantni 
settlement  in  the  United  States.  His  selection  of  St.  Augustine  as  a  site  for  iiis  (.hid 
town  showed  his  good  judgment.  The  situation  was  i)eeuliarly  favorable.  The  liirhdr, 
while  affording  ample  accommodation  fur  vessels  bringing  ii^.  supplies  for  the  giiriisim, 
was  inaccessible  to  tiiose  of  a  larger  class,  and  was  thus  tolerably  protected  from  tin 
attack  of  a  hostile  fieet ;  while  landward  the  estuaries  and  marshes  defended  it  fnim  tin 
Indians.  A  still  more  favorai)le  feature  in  the  location  of  Menende/'s  garrison  \v,;s  it< 
great  healthiness.  Surrounded  by  salt  marshes,  free  from  miasmatic  exhalations,  the  luiiv 
and  balmy  sea-air  preserved  the  colonists  from  those  fevers  so  fatal  to  the  first  sctiki'- 
on  our  Southern  coasts. 

In  1586,  Sir  Francis  Drake,  tiie  famous  luiglish  fillibuster,  returning  from  an  t\|u- 
dilion  against  the  S|)anish  West  Indies,  appeared  off  St.  Augustine,  and  so  terriruti  ilu 
Spaniards  that  they  abandoned  the  fort  and  liie  town  to  liiii^  without  anv  atleni|it  ,11 
resistance,  and  fled  to  the  shelter  of  tiu'  forts  on  the  St.  John's.  Drake  took  posse^siim, 
and  pillaged  ami  iturnt  the  town,  cairying  away  considerable  booty.  The  piinci|ul 
public  buildings  ol  the  placi'  at  that  time  were  a  eourt-house,  a  church,  and  a  iiioii.is- 
tery.  After  the  departure  of  Drake,  (he  .Spaniards  returned  and  nbuilt  tht  mwn 
which,  however,  grew  so  slowly  that  in  1647  there  were  within  its  walls  oiih  ilirn 
hundred  families,  or  fifteen  hundred  inhabitants,  ineludi.ig  fiftv  monks  of  tlie  onlri  nf 
St.   I'raneis. 

In  1665,  a  |)arty  of  I-'nglish  buccaneers,  commanded  by  Captain  John  Daviv,  made 
a  descent  upon  St.  Augustine  with  seven  small  esscis,  and  pillageii  the  town.  Hit 
garrison,  thougli  consisting  of  two  hundred  men,  dt)  not  appear  to  have  resist'il  tiu' 
attack,  which,  it    is  probalile,  was   made   from   the  soi:th   bv   boats. 

In  170a,  Spain  and  iaigland  being  at  war,  an  expetliiion  against  St.  .Augustim  was 
organized    in    South    Carolina,  by  Governor   Moore,  of  that  ctilony.     It    consisted   -i   '^ix 


iltl 


Sr.    AUGUSTINE,    FLORIDA. 


185 


hunJrccl  whites,  and  as  many  Indian  allies,  and  its  plan  of  operations  comprised  a  march 
bv  land  of  one  portion  of  the  force,  and  an  attack  by  sea  of  the  other.  The  land 
force  was  commanded  by  Colonel  Daniel,  the  naval  force  by  Governor  Moore  himself 
The  forces  under  Colonel  Daniel  reached  St.  Augustine  before  the  naval  part  of  the 
expedition  aj)peared,  and  easily  captured  the  town,  the  governor,  Don  Joseph  Cuniga, 
and  tlie  inhabitants,  taking  refuge  in  the  castle,  which  was  well  supplied  with  provisions, 
and  contained  a  considerable  garrison.  Governor  Moore,  \vith  the  fleet,  soon  after 
arrived  and   invested   the    fortifications,   but,   not    having    siege-guns   of  suflkient    calibre, 


St.   Itaiuis   Street,  St.  .\UKusline. 


could  make  no  impression  on  the  walls  of  ibc  fort.  Coh)nel  Daniel  was  sent  to 
j.iMiiii.i  to  procure  heavier  guns.  Wlnlc  h<"  was  vet  altsent,  two  Spanish  vessels 
a|)|)(',mi|  oil  till."  harbor.  Governor  Moore,  fearing  that  he  was  about  to  be  attacked  by 
a  superior  force  and  his  retreat  cut  olf,  liasijlv  raised  the  siege,  destroying  such  of  bis 
munitions  as  he  could  not  remove,  and  barbarously  burning  the  town.  lie  relpited  by 
ImkI,  ilundoning  his  vessels  from  fear  of  the  Spanish  stpiadron,  whose  appearance  had 
ilaniuil  him.  Shortly  afterward.  Colonel  Daniel  returned  from  Jamaica  with  mortars  and 
Ik'ivv  guns,  but  found  M<tore  gone,  and  was  himself  nearlv  captured.  The  expedition 
riturmti  to  Carolina  in  disgrace,  but  without  the  loss  of  a  man.      It  cost  the  coU»iiy  of 


I 


1 86 


PICTURESQUE    AMERICA. 


South  Carolina  six  thousand  pounds,  and  led 
to  the  issue  of  the  first  paper  money  ever 
circulated   in   America. 

In  1727,  Colonel  Palmer,  an  energetic 
officer,  made  a  raid  into  Florida  with  about 
three  hundred  Carolina  militia,  and  carried 
destruction  by  fire  and  sword  to  the  very 
gates  of  St.  Augustine,  which,  however,  he 
dared  not  attack,  though  he  sacked  a  \  cm- 
assee  village  about  a  mile  iiortii  of  the 
city. 

In  1740,  war  again  existing  between 
Spain  and  England,  an  expedition  against  St. 
Augustine  was  organized  bv  ihe  'us  Gen- 

eral Oglethorpe,  then  (joven.or  ui  (ieorgia. 
He  obtained  assistance  from  South  Carolina, 
and  from  I'ngland  a  na\al  force  of  six  ships. 
About    the    first    of    |une    his    forces    reached 


-  "*!l 


4/^ 


•^. 


'-..r^' 


rill'  (  iiiiviiii  ( inle. 


SI.    AllKUslilK'    C;llluilial 

St.  .Augusline,  whie.i  was  detended  lu  ,i 
not  very  luunerous  garrison  conuii.iniliii 
by  Don  Manuel  de  Monteanct,  the  (Im- 
rnor  of  I'iorida,  a  man  of  eneig\  ii'iil 
solution.  ,\fter  a  siege  of  five  ni  mn 
.veeks,  c;.rrijd  on  ehiellv  !iy  bombaiclimiil 
from  Anastasia  Island,  Oglethorpe  Inciiiii 
satisfied  tli.it  in-  could  not  take  the  plan 
espiriailv  as  his  licet  ha<l  wilhdi.iuii  :n 
.ippreheiision  of  bad  wcallicr,  and  In  .u 
lordinglv  embarked  his  troojis  ami  ^.lili'il 
away  on  Jul \    9th. 

Iwd  vcars  later,  the  Spanish  ("t(i\ 
ernor  of  i'lorida,  the  energetit  Moni'  ii" 
having  received  reCnfiircemcnts  Iroiii  (  n 
ba,  siiileil  from  St.  Augustine  with  lliiin 
six    vessels    and    three    thousand    nun    I" 


ST.    AUGUSTINE,    FLORIDA. 


187 


attack  tlic  Enp^lish  settlements  in  Georgia.  He  met  witii  some  success  at  first,  but  was 
finally  hafflcd,  partly  by  the  force  and  partiy  by  the  finesse  of  Oglethorpe,  and  returned 
to  Florida.  In  the  following  year,  1743,  Oglethorjje  made  a  raid  into  the  Spanish 
dominions   to   the   gates  of  St.  Augustine,  advancing  with  such  celerity  and  secrecy  that 


A  Street  '.n  St.  Aueuitine. 


the  Indians  attached  to  his  force  captured  and  scalped  forty  of  the  Spanish  troops  under 
tlu'  Vi  i\   walls  of   Fort   St.  Mark's,  the  chief  defence  of  the  city. 

lU  1I1C  'litatv  of  i;f);„whi(h  established  jjcace  between  Spain  and  F.ngland,  Florida 
was  ceded  to  the  Kng'ish  in  exchange  for  Havana,  which  had  been  taken  l)y  \\n  I'.nglish 
Hat  (luring  the  war.  'I'his  cession  was  very  di'^tastefui  to  the  I'loridians,  and  nearly  all 
of  thrill  removed  at  once  to  Mexico  and  the  West  Indies.  To  ollsct  this  depopuli'.tion, 
Itreat  1  fTorts  were  made  in   F'ngland  to  promote  emigration   to  the   newlv-ac(|uired   terri- 


lifil 


1 88 


PICTURESQUE   AMERICA. 


tory,  the  fertility  and  salubrity  of  which  were  highly  lauded  in  pamphlets,  books,  and 
newspaper  articles.  An  association  was  formed  in  London,  at  the  head  of  whicli  was 
Dr.  Andrew  TurnbuU,  a  Scotch  gentleman,  having  in  view  the  settlement  of  the  large 
and  very  valuable  body  of  land  lying  near  Mosquito  Inlet.  They  proposed  to  accom- 
plish this  purpose  by  procuring  settlers  from  the  south  of  Europe  and  the  Mediter- 
ranean islands,  especially  from  Minorca,  who,  living  in  a  similar  climate,  might 
successfully  transplant  and  cultivate  the  productions  of  that  region  on  the  rich  lands 
of  Florida.  Accordingly,  in  1767,  fifteen  hundred  Greeks,  Italians,  and  Minorcans,  were 
brought  over  and  settled  at  New  Smyrna,  on  ihe  Mosquito  Inlet,  ninety  miles  south 
of  St.  Augustine.  There  they  remained  till  1776,  when  their  number  was  reduced  bv 
sickness  to  about  si.\  hundred,  and  this  remnant,  complaining  of  ill-usage  on  the  part 
of  the  proprietors  of  the  colony,  abandoned  New  Smyrna  in  a  body  and  riade  their 
way  to  St.  Augustine,  where  lots  were  assigned  to  them  in  the  northern  part  of  the 
city,  where  t'.cir  descendants  still  reside,  and  constitute  an  important  and  very  interest- 
mg  part  of  the  population. 

The  British  kept  possession  of  Florida  about  twenty  years,  and  then,  in  17H3, 
receded  it  to  Spain  in  exchange  for  the  Bahama  Islands.  St.  Augustine,  at  that  time, 
contained  three  thousand  inhabitants,  a  description  of  which  we  copy  from  a  "  History 
of  Florida,"  by  Mr.  Geo.  R.  Fairbanks— the  latest  and  the  best  work  on  this  section  of 
our  country  : 

"All  the  gardens  in  the  town  were  well  stocked  with  fruit-trees,  such  as  figs,  guavis, 
plantains,  pomegranates,  lemons,  limes,  citrons,  shaddocks,  bergamot,  China  and  Seville 
oranges.  The  city  was  three-i|uarters  of  a  mile  in  length,  and  about  a  quarter  of  a  mile 
in  width.  It  had  four  churches,  ornamentally  built  of  stone  (coqriina?)  in  the  Spanish 
style.  One  was  pulled  down  during  the  linglish  occupation,  the  steeple  of  whicli  was 
preserved  as  an  ornament  to  the  town.  One  of  the  churches  was  attached  to  the  Convent 
of  St.  Francis.  Their  houses  were  all  built  of  stone,  their  entrances  shaded  by  jiiazzas 
supjiorted  by  Tuscan  |)illars  or  pilasters.  Upon  the  east  the  windows  projected  eiulileen 
inelus  into  the  street,  and  were  very  wide  and  proportionably  high.  On  the  west  side 
the  wi!idows  were  commonly  very  small,  and  there  was  no  opening  of  any  kind  lo  the 
north,  upon  which  side  they  had  double  walls,  si.\  or  eight  feet  asunder,  forming  ;i  kind 
of  hall  for  cellars  and  pantries.  Before  most  of  the  entrances,  which  were  from  an  inner 
court,  were  arbors  of  vines,  producing  fine  and  luscious  grapes.  None  of  the  houses 
were  sup|)Iied  with  chimneys  or  fireplaces.  For  the  purp(.ses  of  warmth,  stone  urns  were 
filled  with  coals,  and  placed  in  the  rooms  in  the  afternooi.  to  moderate  the  fempei.ituR' 
in  weather  sulTiciently  cool  to  retjuire  it.  The  governor's  residence  had  pia/zas  on  lioth 
sides,  also  a  belvedere  and  grand  portico,  decorated  with  Doric  pillars  and  cntablntiires. 
At  the  north  end  of  the  town  was  the  castle,  a  cisemated  fort,  with  four  basti<iiis,  a 
ravelin  counterscarp,  and  a  glacis,  built  with  quarried  stone,  and  constructed  according;  to 


(SCENE     IN     ST.     AUUUSriNE.— IHE     DA  IE     PAl.M 


^msmm 


^ 


190 


PICTURESQUE    AMERICA. 


the  system  of  Vauban.  Half  a  mile  to  the  north  was  a  line,  with  a  broad  Jitcli  and 
bastions,  running  from  the  Sebastian  Creek  to  St.  Mark's  River;  a  mile  from  that  was 
another  fortified  lim',  with  some  redoubts,  forming  a  second  line  of  communication  be- 
tween a  staccata  fort  upon  St.  Sebastian  River,  and  Fort  Moosa,  upon  the  St.  Mark's 
River.  Within  the  first  line,  near  the  town,  was  a  small  settlement  of  Germans,  who 
had  a  church  of  their  own.  Upon  the  St.  Mark's  River,  within  the  second  line,  was 
also  an  Indian  town,  with  a  stone  church  built  by  the  Indians  themselves,  and  in  vctv 
good  taste.     These  lines  may  be  still   distinctly  traced.     The   churches  spoken  of,  outside 


The  Cily  Untc. 


the    city,  as  well   as    Forts    Moosa   and    Staccata,  have   long   since   disappeared,  but   their 
sites  are  known. 

"  During  the  English  occupation,  large  buildings  were  erected  for  barracks,  ol  '-uiTi- 
cient  extent  to  (juarter  five  regiments  of  troops.  The  brick  of  which  they  were  Imilt 
was  brought  from  Now  York,  althougli  the  island  ojiposite  the  city  afforded  a  mudi 
better  building-material  in  the  cotiuina  stone.  The  lower  story  only  of  the  iJritisii  bar- 
racks was  built  of  brick,  the  upper  story  being  of  wood.  These  barracks  stood  at  tlie 
southern  c  xtremity  of  the  town,  to  the  south  of  tiie  present  barracks,  and  the  kiiKtl; 
and  great  extent  of  the   buildings  fronting   on    the   bay  added  greatly  to  the  appeai.ince 


Sr.    AUGUSTINE,    FLORIDA. 


191 


of  the  city  as  viewed  from  the  harbor.  The  city,  in  English  times,  contained  many  gen- 
tlemen of  distinction,  among  whom  were  Sir  Charles  Burdett,  Chief-Justice  Drayton,  Rev. 
John  Forbes,  the  Admiralty  Judge,  General  James  Grant,  Lieutenant-Governor  Moultrie, 
William  Stark,  Esq.,  the  historian.  Rev.  N.  Frazer,  Dr.  Andrew  TurnbuU,  Bernard  Ro- 
mans, Esq.,  c''"''  engineer,  James  Moultrie,  Esq.,  and  William  Bartram,  the  naturalist. 

"Some  few  English  families  remained  after  the  evacuation  by  the  British  in  1784, 
and  the  entire  settlement  of  Greeks  and  Minorcans,  who  had  come  up  from  Mosquito 
from  Dr.  Tumbull's  colony.  As  they  were  all  Roman  Catholics,  and  were  accustomed 
to  a  language  resembling  the  Spanish,  they  were  not  affected  to  any  great  degree  by  the 
cliange  of  rulers. 

"  It  is  a  sad  thing  for  an  entire  people  to  be  forced  to  give  up  their  homes  and 
seek  an  asylum  in  some  foreign  land ;  and  melancholy  was  the  spectacle  presented  on  all 
the  routes  leading  to  the  harbor  designated  for  the  embarkation  of  the  English  inhabi- 
tants of  Florida — families  separating  perhaps  forever,  long  adieus  between  neighbors  and 
friends  who  had  together  shared  the  privations  and  pleasures  of  tiie  past,  leaving  behind 
them  ])!aces  endeared  by  the  most  sacred  associations,  and  containing,  perchance,  the  pre- 
cious dust  of  the  departed.  Homes  embowered  among  the  orange-groves,  and  made 
plf  i.sant  by  the  fragrant  blossoms  of  the  honeysuckle,  the  rose,  and  the  acacia ;  a  land 
where  Nature  had  lavished  her  choicest  beauties,  and  created  a  perpetual  summer — such 
was  the  land  upon  which  the  unfortunate  residents  of  Florida  were  obliged  to  turn  their 
backs  forever." 

In  182 1  Florida  passed  by  treaty  from  the  dominion  of  Spain  to  that  of  the  United 
Stales,  and  since  then  there  is  little  in  the  history  of  St.  Augustine  that  demands  par- 
ticular notice. 

The  most  conspicuous  feature  in  the  town  is  the  old  fort  of  St.  Mark's,  or  San 
Marco,  which  is  built  of  coquina,  a  unitjuc  conglomerate  of  fine  shells  and  sand,  found 
in  large  quantities  on  Anastasia  Islam!,  at  the  entrance  of  the  harbor,  and  quarried  with 
preat  ease,  though  it  becomes  hard  by  exposure  to  the  air.  It  is  (luarried  in  large 
itiocks,  and  forms  a  wall  well  calculated  to  resist  cannon-shot,  because  it  does  not 
splinter  when  struck. 

The  fort  r'.ands  on  the  sea-front  at  one  end  of  the  town.  It  was  a  hundred  years 
in  luiilJing,  and  was  completed  in  1 756,  as  is  attested  by  the  following  inscription,  which 
mav  still  be  seen  over  the  gateway,  together  with  the  arms  of  Spain,  handsomely  carved 
in  siono :  "  Don  Fernando  being  King  of  Spain,  and  the  Field-Marshal  Don  Alonzo 
I'Vrnando  Flerida  being  governor  and  captain-general  of  this  place,  St.  Augustine  of 
Florida  and  its  provinces,  this  fort  was  finished  in  the  year  1756.  The  works  were 
directed  by  the  Captain- F.ngineer  Don   Pedro  de   Brazos  y  Gareny." 

While  owned  by  liu'  British,  this  was  said  to  be  the  prettiest  fort  in  the  king's 
dominions.     Its  castellated  battlements ;  its  formidable  bastit)ns,  with  their  frowning  guns ; 


192 


PICTURESQUE    AMERICA. 


'•^^^^^*KfliijS^Si 


Walch-Tower.  St.  Mark's 
t'asllo. 


its  lofty  and  imposing 
sally-port,  surrounded 
by   the   royal    Spanish 
arms  ;     its     portcullis, 
moat,  draw-bridge;   its 
circular      and      ornate 
sentry  -  boxes    at    each 
principal     parapet  -  an- 
gle ;    its    conimantling 
lookout     tower  ;     and 
its   stained   and    moss- 
grown  massive  walls- 
impress    the    external 
observer  as  a  relic   of 
the  distant  past :  while 
a    ramble   through    its 
heavy    casematt.-. — its    crumbling    Romish 
chapel,  witii   elaborate   portico    and    inner 
altar  and  holy-water  niches;  its  dark  pas- 
sages, gloomy  vaults,  and    more   recently- 
discovered  dungeons — brings  you  to  ready 
credence  of  its   many  traditions  of  inquisitorial  tor- 
tures ;   of  decaying   skeletons,   found    in    the    latest- 
opened    chambers,  chained    to    the    rusty  ring-bolts, 
and  of  alleged  subterranean    passages   to  the  neigh- 
boring  convent.     We  give,  in  addition  to  a  general 
view    of    this    fort,    at    the    head   of   our   article,   an 

illustration  of  tiie  (juaint  old  watch-tower,  overlooking  the  sea,  and  a  glimpse  ol  the 
interior,  showing  a  stairway  crumbled  away  out  of  almost  all  resemblance  to  its  oriiriiial 
form,  and  beneatii  an  elliptical  arcli  the  entrance  to  the  dungeons  we  have  referred  to. 
Here  only  a  few  years  since,  in  a  cavity  revealed  by  tiie  linking  of  the  ])arapet  iiliovc, 
were  found  two  skeletons  hermetically  walled  in.  The  traveller  curious  in  these  old  Im- 
tifications  will  be  disposed  to  visit  the  ruins  of  a  fort  about  twenty  miles  south  of  Si. 
Augustine,  on  Matanzas  Inlet.  Of  the  history  of  this  structure  nothing  is  known,  it  'x^ 
entirely  dilferent  in  form  of  construction  from  St.  Mark's,  and  was  probably  ereettil  al'out 
the  same  time. 

Several  other  l)uildings  in  tiie  town  are  wortliy  of  notice  for  tiieir  (|uaintiies<  or 
anticjuity.  The  cathedral  is  unique,  with  its  belfry  in  tlie  form  of  a  section  of  a  lull- 
shaped   pyramid,  its   chime  of  four  bells  in  separate   niches,  and  its  clock,  together  toini 


^■vr^tmmm, 


eti 


6-7:    AUGUSTINE,    FLORIDA. 


I  "1 


ing  a  cross.  The  oldest  of  these  bells  is  marked  1682.  The  old  Convent  of  St.  Mary's 
is  a  sugj^cstive  relic  of  the  days  of  papal  rule.  The  new  convent  is  a  tasteful  building 
of  the  ancient  coquina.  The  United-States  barracks,  recently  remodelled  and  improved, 
are  said  to  have  been  built  as  a  convent,  or  monastery.  The  old  govenmient-house,  or 
palace,  is  now  in  use  as  the  post-office  and  United-States  court-rooms.  At  its  rear  is  a  * 
well-preserved  relic  of  what  seems  to  have  been  a  fortification  to  protect  the  town  from 
an  ovcr-the-river  or  inland  attack.  An  older  house  than  this,  formerly  occupied  by  the 
attonuy-iicncral,  was  pulled  down  a  few  years  ago.  Its  ruins  are  still  a  curiosity,  and 
are  called  (thougii  incorrectly)  the  governor's  house. 


Interior  of  St.   Mark's  Castle. 


The  "  Plaza  de  la  Constitucion  "  is  a  fine  public  square  in  the  centre  of  the  town, 
on  wiiicli  stand  the  ancient  markets,  and  which  is  faced  by  the  cathedral,  the  old  palace, 
the  cimviMit,  a  modern  Episcopal  church,  and  other  fine  structures.  In  the  centre  of  the 
pl.i/.i  '^l>ln(ls  a  monument  erected  in  honor  of  the  Spanish  Liberal  Constitution. 

The  old  Huguenot  buryin^-ground  is  a  spot  of  much  interest;  so  is  the  military 
burviiiir-ground,  where  rest  the  remains  of  those  who  fell  near  here  during  the  ])r<)l()nged 
.SeniiiKile  War.  Under  three  pyramids  of  coquina,  stuccui-d  and  whitened,  are  the  ashes 
ot  Mijor  Dade  and  one  hundred  and  seven  men  of  his  command,  who  were  massacred 
bv  Osceola  and   his    band.     A  fiiie  sea-wall  of  nearly  a  mill   in  length,  built  of  coquina, 


194 


PICTURESQUE    AMERICA. 


^ 

^ 

!  "■    ' 

with  a  copinjr  of  granite,  protects  the  entire  ocean-front  of  the  city,  and  furnislics  a 
delightful  promenade  of  a  moonlight  evening.  In  full  view  of  this  is  the  old  light-house 
on  Anastasia  Island,  built  more  than  a  century  ago,  and  now  surmounted  with  a  fim- 
revolving  lantern. 

The  appearance  of  St.  Augustine  to  the  visitor  from  other  parts  of  the  country  is 
as  quaint  and  peculiar  as  its  history  is  bloody  and  varied.  Nothing  at  all  like  it  is  to 
be  seen  in  any  part  of  the  United  States.  It  resembles  some  of  the  old  towns  of  S|)iiin 
and  Italy.  The  streets  are  quite  narrow ;  one,  which  is  nearly  a  mile  long,  bcinir  but 
fifteen  feet  wide,  and  that  on  which  a  principal  hotel  stands  being  but  twelve  feet,  while 


Kuins  ot  a  Spanish  Fort  at  Matanzas  Inlet. 


the  widest  of  all  is  but  twenty-five  feet.  An  advantage  of  these  narrow  streets  in  thi- 
warm  climate  is  that  they  give  shade,  and  increase  the  draught  of  air  through  them  as 
through  a  flue.  Indeed,  some  of  the  streets  seem  almost  like  a  flue  rather  than  ;in  open 
way;  for  many  of  the  houses,  with  high  roof  and  dormer-windows,  have  hanging  lialc(> 
nies  along  their  second  story,  which  seem  almost  to  touch  each  other  over  tlic  lairow 
street ;  and  the  families  sitting  in  these  of  a  warm  evening  can  chat  confidcnti;ill\ ,  or 
even  shake  hands  with  their  over-the-way  neighbors. 

The  street-walls  of  the  houses  are  frequently  extended    in  front  of  the  sidc-ganlcn— 
the   house-roof,  and   perhaps   a   side-balcony,  covering   this   extension — or  the    houses  arc 


ill 


^^^isisieb. 


.iiiTj^^SSES 


Sr.    AUGUSTINE,   FLORIDA. 


•95 


built  around  uncovered  courts,  so  that,  passing  through  the  main  door  of  a  building,  you 
find  yourself  still  in  the  open  air,  instead  of  within  the  dwelling.  These  high  and  solid 
garden-walls  are  quite  common  along  the  principal  streets ;  and  an  occasional  latticed 
door  gives  you  a  peep-  into  the  attractive  area  beyond  the  massive  structure,  with  per- 
haps a  show  of  huge  stone  arches,  or  of  a  winding  staircase  between  heavy  stone  col- 
umns, or  of  a  profusion  of  tropical  vegetation  in  the  winter-garden,  bringing  to  mind  the 
stories  in  poem  and  romance  of  the  loves  of  Spanish  damsels,  and  of  stolen  interviews 
at  the  garden-gate,  or  elopements  by  means  of  the  false  key  or  the  bribed  porter.    The 


Coquina  Quarry,  Anastasia  Island. 


principal  streets  were  formerly  well  paved  or  floored  with  shell-concrete,  portions  of 
which  are  still  to  be  seen  above  the  shifting  sand;  and  this  flooring  was  so  carefully 
swept  that  the  dark-eyed  maidens  of  Old  Castile,  who  then  led  in  society  here,  could 
pass  and  repass  without  soiling  their  sa':in  slippers.  No  rumbling  wheels  were  per- 
mitted to  crush  the  firm  road-bed,  or  to  whirl  the  dust  into  the  airy  verandas,  where 
in  uiulisturbed  repose  sat  the  Spanish  dons  and  dames. 

There  are  two  convents  in  St.  Augustine,  whose  nuns  are  mainly  occupied  in  the 
education  of  young  girls.  There  are  among  them  a  number  of  nuns  brought  ov^*-  from 
France  a  few  years  since,  who  teach,  besides  their  own  language,  the  art  of  making  lace, 


A    GARDEN     IN     FLORIDA. 


6-7:    AUGUSTINE,    FLORIDA. 


197 


and  have  also  introduced  the  manufacture  of  hats  from  the  palmetto  and  from  the  wire- 
grass,  which  is  very  strong  and  durable. 

It  must  not  be  supposed,  however,  that  St.  Augustine  is  built  wholly  of  coquina  and 
in  tlic  Spanish  style.  There  are  many  fine  residences  there  in  the  /Vmerican  style.  A 
profusion  of  tropical  plants,  and  shrubs,  and  trees,  ornament  their  grounds.  Here  the 
oranffc  flourishes,  and  is  abundant  and  delicious ;  several  fine  groves  invite  the  visitor's 
inspection.  The  fig,  and  date,  and  palm,  and  banana,  are  all  seen  here,  a'^  also  the  lime 
and  lemon,  which  grow  to  a  great  size,  and  the  sweet  and  the  wild  olive;  the  citron,  the 
guava,  and  the  pomegranate,  are  all  indigenous.  The  grape,  and  the  peach,  and  the 
water-melon,  also  grow  here  with  great  luxuriance. 

Among  our  illustrations  the  reader  will  find  a  garden-scene  (see  page  189),  which, 
eminently  characteristic  of  St.  Augustine  in  many  of  its  features,  is  specially  noticeable 
on  account  of  a  splendid  jpecimcn  of  a  date-palm,  flanked  on  one  side  by  ;»,  fig  and  on 
the  other  by  a  lemon  tree.  To  Northern  eyes  the  picture  is  rendered  amusing  by  the 
Liliputian  proportions  of  a  Florida  hay-stack,  which,  being  too  weak  to  stand  alone,  is 
wound  around  a  stout  bludgeon.  The  peculiarity  of  the  trunk  of  the  palm  is,  that  it  has 
the  same  diameter  at  the  top  as  it  has  at  the  base.  Its  long  shaft  is  onamented  with  a 
capital  about  six  feet  high,  clothed  with  branches  some  fifteen  feet  long,  the  leaves  of 
which  are  arranged  like  the  feather  part  of  a  quill.  These  palms,  so  essentially  tropical 
in  their  character  and  appearance,  vary  from  the  vegetation  of  northern  climates  in  every 
intrinsic  quality  as  well  as  shape.  The  heart  of  the  palm  is  pith ;  the  heart  of  the 
northern  tree  is  its  most  solid  part.  The  age  of  the  palm  is  legibly  written  upon  its 
exterior  surface ;  the  age  of  the  northern  tree  is  concealed  under  a  protecting  bark. 
The  northern  tree,  though  native  of  a  cold,  inhospitable  climate,  is  adapted  to  give 
shade;  the  palm,  with  its  straight,  unadorned  trunk  and  meagre  tuft  of  leafy  limbs,  gives 
no  protection  to  the  earth  or  to  man  from  the  burning  tropical  sun. 

In  "A  Florida  Garden"  we  have,  with  surroundings  of  a  more  refined  character,  other 
specimens  of  Southern  vegetation.  The  cactus  on  the  right  of  the  picture  is  an  excep- 
tional development  of  this  singular  plant,  which  is  usually  a  humble  occupier  of  the  soil. 
Its  habit  is  to  push  a  few  leaves  upward,  and  then  shed  them  one  after  another,  some- 
thinjr  after  the  fashion  crabs  dispose  of  an  offending  claw.  Each  discarded  leaf,  however, 
sets  up  growing  for  itself,  and  thus  the  cactus,  in  a  modest  way,  usurps  large  tracts  of 
favorable  soil,  forming  an  undergrowth  more  impenetrable  to  man  and  beast  than  walls 
of  wood  or  iron.  But  our  cactus  in  the  garden  has  been  led  by  the  skilful  hand  of 
the  cultivator  upward,  and,  by  removing  every  exuberant  bud,  developed  into  proportions 
quite  foreign  to  its  customary  experience.  At  the  left  of  the  picture  we  have,  in  the 
banana,  another  phase  of  tropical  horticulture,  with  its  broad  leaves,  that  unfold  in  a 
single  night  from  a  long,  slender  stem,  and  its  pendent  clusters  of  fruit. 


CHARLESTON    AND    ITS    SUBURBS. 


WITH    ILLUSTRATIONS    BV    ILVKRY    FENN. 


"f-T^v-  /i""!'^^ 


A  (iaiilcn  III  Cliarlcntun. 


~  \'  oni'  jfo  to  Charleston  from  llic  North,  let  him  ^o  in  the  sprinji-tinie.  Tlie  almost 
-■•  sudden  ehanne  from  wintry  landscape  and  l»leak  winds  to  summer  suns  and  sumnier 
I'oliace  is  a  delightful  surprise.  If  it  chance  with  (he  traveller,  as  it  chanced  witli  Mr 
lenn  and  the  writer,  that  the  steamer  s;rl  away  from  the  New-V'ork  wharf  amid  tin' 
rain  and  winil  of  a  Northern  March,  that  all  the  way  southward  cloud  and  storm  mii- 
round  and  lieset  the  vessel,  and   then  at  once  come  with  the  longed-for  sun   the  wisiud- 


CHARLESTON   AND    ITS    SUBURBS. 


199 


for  harbor,  the  sudden  sweetness  and  beauty  of  the  scene  will  seem  to  him  a  transition 
to  a  terrestrial  paradise. 

Because  Charleston  lies  low,  and  seems  to  rise  up  out  of  the  waters  as  one  sails  up 
to  it,  it  has  been  called  the  vVmeritan  Venice.  It  may  be  doubted  if  one  would  think  of 
this  comparison  if  the  guide-books  did  not  suggest  it.  There  are  charms  enough  in  the 
American  city  to  please  even  an  experienced  traveller,  but  one  would  scarcely  find  his 
appreciation  of  them  enhanced  by  recalling  the  wonders  of  the  Bride  of  the  Adriatic. 
If  in  no  true  sense  a  Venice,  Charleston  yet  rises  with  charming  effec*^  from  the  sea. 
The  long,  palm-studded  shores  of  the  bay,  the  islands  and  forts  that  dot  its  surface,  the 
mansions  that  front  the  waters,  and  the  spires  that  lift  to  the  skies,  all  make  up  a  very 
pretty  jiicture. 

Tlic  first  impression  the  streets  of  Charleston  give  is  that  of  retiring  respectability. 
There  are  no  splendid  avenues,  no  imposing  jiublic  structures;  but  a  few  fine  old 
churches,  and  many  noble  private  mansions  standing  in  a  sort  of  dingy  statelincss  amid 
their  cml)owering  magnolias,  command  your  attention.  Our  New- York  custoin,  derived 
from  our  Dutch  ancestors,  of  painting  our  brick  fronts,  is  not  in  vogue  here,  where  the 
houses  have  the  sombre  but  rich  toning  that  age  alone  can  give  when  its  slow  pencil- 
lings  are  never  disturbed  by  the  rude  intrusion  of  the  painter's  brush.  The  Charleston 
inansio.is  are  nearly  always  built  with  gable-end  to  the  street.  At  one  side  rises  a  tier 
of  open  verandas,  into  the  lower  of  which  the  main  entrance  to  tlie  building  is  placed. 
Usually,  after  the  luiglish  ftishion,  a  high  brick  wall  encloses  the  grounds  of  the  house, 
and  it  is  only  through  an  open  gate-way  that  one  catches  a  glimpse  of  flowers,  and 
shnibs,  and  vines,  that  bloom  and  expand  w  the  enclosure.     Fiut  the  rich  dark  green 

of  the  magnolia  half  screens  the  unsmoothed  brick  walls  far  above,  and  seems  to  hold 
the  ancient  structure  in  the  hush  of  venerable  repose. 

It  is  quite  possible  the  somewhat  rude  surface  and  an(i(jue  color  of  the  brick  houses 
in  Charleston  would  fail  to  please  the  taste  of  Northerners  reared  amitl  the  supreme 
newness  of  our  always  reconstriicting  cities.  But  every  one  ought  to  travel  in  the  com- 
panv  uf  an  artist.  It  is  only  when  associated  with  one  of  this  instructed  class  that  a 
man  discovers  the  use  of  his  eyes,  and  begins  to  understand  hdly  the  beauties,  and  har- 
nioiiiis,  and  rich  elTeets  that  pertain  to  many  things  neglected  by  ordinary  observers. 
These  time-tinted  mansi'ins  of  Charleston,  to  the  eve  of  an  artist,  have  many  charms. 
In  the  writer's  own  ease  he  foinid  it  a  good  training  to  hear  enthusiastic  Mr.  I'enn 
dilate  upon  this  bit  of  color,  that  glimpse  of  rich  toning,  this  new  and  surprising  effect. 
it  was  even  a  revelation  sometimes  to  see  hiiti  extract  a  picture  on'  of  apparently  the 
most  milavorable  material.  Nothing,  indeed,  seemed  foreigi:  to  him  but  the  merely 
priiiv.  Sweet,  new  houses  of  a  res|>ectable  priinness  have  no  attraction  for  his  artistic 
longings.  Fresh  paint  is  his  abomination.  The  glare  of  the  new  enters  like  iron  into 
his  soul.     But  a  fine  bit  of  dilapidation,  a  ruin  with  a  vine  clambering  over  it,  a  hut  all 


i 

i 


200 


PICTURESQUE    AMERICA. 


J  I 


awry,  with  a  group  of  ntirrops 
in  their  Haring  turbans  set 
against  the  ga])ing  walls,  old 
chimneys  and  old  roofs,  the 
dark  grays  and  browns  that 
form  into  such  rich  pictures  in 
an  old  town,  these  things  would 
be  sure  to  catch  his  eye  and 
delight  his  fancy.  In  these 
semi-tropical  jilaces  there  arc  a 
hundred  bits  that  would  l)e  ad- 
mirable for  a  sketch  in  uil  or 
water  colors,  that  would  lose 
their  value  in  black  and  white. 
It  is  a  pity  that  divine  coioi 
cannot  enter  into  engraving. 

The  search  for  the  i)ictu- 
rcsque  that  would  meet  the 
necessities  of  our  purposi'  was 
not  expeditious.  It  is  (inly 
after  walking  aroinil  a  place, 
and  surveying  it  from  diirmnt 
situations,  that  an  artist  can  set- 
tle upon  his  point  of  view. 
We  were  three  days  in  ("l„nies- 
ton  ere  Mr.  I'enn  discovered 
the  prosj^ect  from  St.  Michael's 
belfry,  and  to  this  the  reader's 
attention  is  solicited,  ll  he 
does  not  think  it  very  jjodd, 
we  shall  be  tempted  to  de- 
nounce his  artistic  appreciilion, 
Note  the  far  stietch  of  sea  and 
the  long,  low  shores;  ihti"  is 
Fort  Sumter  far  (l(twn  M 
bay,  and  nearer  the  f.imoU'- 
Castle  Pinekney,  a  fortress  that 
stands  guard  in  the  dired  a|>- 
pruach   to  the  town.     The  |>()i- 


A    GLIMPSE    OF    CHARLESTrN     AND     UAY,     KHOM     8T.     MICHAELS    CHUhCt 


202 


PICTURESQUE   AMERICA. 


tion  of  the  city  which  this  view  commands  is  its  most  ancient  quarter.  Many  of  the 
l)uildings  were  erected  in  colonial  times,  and  up  to  the  period  of  the  Revolution  this 
comprised  nearly  the  entire  city,  The  chimneys  are  of  a  quaint  fashion,  and  the  roofs  arc 
mostly  of  grooved  red  tiles.  The  wide  street  to  the  left  of  the  picture  is  the  Charleston 
Wall  Street,  where  congregate  all  the  banks  and  banking-houses,  brokers'  offices,  and 
law-ofiices.  Here  assemble  the  merchants  and  brokers;  here  are  effected  those  trans- 
actions in  commerce  and  finance  so  dear  to  the  heart  of  the  money-making  world.  The 
building  at  the  foot  of  the  street  is  the  ancient  custom-house,  which,  during  the  recent 
war,  was  rudely  hustled  by  many  an  irreverent  shell,  unceremoniously  battered  iiy  liall 
and  petard,  and  now  stands  a  broken  and  shattered  reminiscence  of  by-gone  belligcrencv. 
This  structure,  which  dates  back  before  the  independence  of  the  colony,  is  dear  to  tin 
Charlestonians.  It  has  always  e.xcited  leir  patriotic  sympathies,  for  here  dunng  the 
Revolution  the  patriot  prisoners  were  confined,  and  from  its  portals  the  heroic  martvr 
Hayne  was  led  to  execution. 

The  old  i)uildings  that  the  church  looks  down  upon  are  not  more  ancient  than  the 
church  itself  St.  Michael's  was  built  in  1752 — it  is  said  from  designs  by  a  pupil  of  Sir 
Christopher  Wren.  The  tower  is  considered  very  fine,  and  the  situation  of  the  church 
makes  the  spire  a  conspicuous  object  far  out  at  sea.  During  the  siege  of  Charleston  in 
the  late  war,  it  was  a  mark  for  the  Federal  artillerymen  ;  but,  though  persistently  shelled 
it  was  struck  i)ut  a  few  times,  and  then  only  with  slight  injury. 

Another  of  the  ancient  churches  in  Charleston  is  St.  Philip's.  This  was  the  first 
church  establishment  in  Charleston  ;  but  the  present  structure,  which  is  the  third  i  ircted 
by  the  parish,  although  of  venerable  age,  is  yet  not  quite  so  old  as  St.  Michael's.  Thi 
view  from  the  spire  is  fine ;  but  the  re  is  a  keener  interest  in  the  graveyard  than  even  in 
the  old  church  itself,  for  here  are  met  with  at  every  turn  those  family  names  thai  have 
so  long  been  associated  in  honor,  not  only  with  Charleston,  but  with  the  whole  eountrv 
— Cladsden,  Rutledge,  and  I'inckmy.  In  the  portion  of  the  graveyard  that  lies  acms'' 
the  roadway  is  the  tomb  of  Calhoun.  It  consists  of  a  plain  uranite  slab,  supported  hv 
walls  of  brick,  and  for  inscription  has  simply  the  nann-  of  "  C.\i  iiohn."  The  remains  nt 
the  stati'sman  were  removed  during  the  war,  when  Charleston  was  threatened  with  en)!- 
ture,  under  a  most  misjudged  apprehension  that  the  Cnion  soldiers  would  disturb  linm 
They  were  replaced  in  the  spring  of  1871.  St.  Philip's,  with  its  embowering  tnis,  itv 
ancient  gravestones,  its  scarri-d  and  iiroken  walls,  its  marks  of  li;)stile  slulls,  its  sininimd- 
ings  of  old  buildings,  the  tiled  roofs  of  which  show  (|uaintly  tlirough  the  green  ot  ihe 
trees,  aflbrds  a  picture  that  is  picturesque  and  pleasing. 

Charleston  has  been  accused  of  not  having  a  public  park  ;  but  the  promenade 
known  as  the  Battery  is  an  enclosure  which,  if  small,  has  some  advantages  that  ven  few 
parks  can  supply.  Like  the  New-N'ork  Hattery,  it  is  on  the  water's  edge;  it  comnuimls 
a  view  of  the   extensive   bay,  and    is   fanned    by  winds   that   come   laden    with    tin    sail 


CHARLESTON    AND    ITS   SUBURBS. 


203 


odors  of  the  ocean.     It  is  surrounded  by  tine  private  mansions,  and  at  early  morning,  at 
nvilight,  01   on  moonlit  nights,  is  thronged  with  people  seeking  rest  and  recreation. 

After  one,  in  Charleston,  has  promenaded  on  the  Battery;  has  visited  the  churches; 
has  seen  all  the  ruins  effected  by  war  and  by  fire ;  has  examined  the  handsome  new  cus- 
tom-house, now  erecting ;   has  admired  all  the  stately  old  residences ;   nas  visited  the  fine 


A  Kond-Hidc  Scciu'  iioai  Charleston. 


inilitnrv  academy ;  has  watched  the  various  aspects  of  negro  character,  which  in  these 
Siiuthern  cities  is  an  endless  source  of  amusement — he  must  sail  down  the  bay,  and  he 
imisi  visit  the  rich  lowland  scenery  of  the  suburbs. 

Diiwn  the  bay  are  many  points  of  historic  interest;  but  Fort  Sumter  crowns  them 
all.  On  Sullivan's  Island,  at  the  sea-line,  is  the  famous  Fort  Moultrie  of  Revolutionary 
fame.      Here,  before   the  war,  was   the    Moultrie    House,  a    watering-place   resort    for   the 


204 


PICTURESQUE    AMERICA. 


ifl  !:f 


wm 


Charlostonians.     On  another  island  is,  or  was,  the  Mount  Pleasant   Hotel,  where  there  is 
pood   i)athinjr,  and  also    forests   that  afford  fine  drives   and   pleasant   rambles.      Our  own 

expedition  down  the  bay  terminated  at  Fort  Sumter. 
To  this  place  there  is  a  daily  ferry,  consisting  of  a 
capacious  yacht,  the  commander  of  which  is  an  Athe- 
nian Greek.  There  was  to  our  minds  somethinjr  of 
the  Mediterranean  in  the  whole  aspect  of  the  vessel 
crew,  and  passengers,  which  a  lateen-sail  would  have 
rendered  complete.  The  passengers,  that  came  in  little 
grou]is  to  the  vessel,  were  motley  and  picturesque:  the 
buxom  and  turbaned  negro  "aunties,"  the  solemn  but 
ragged  negro  "  uncles,"  the  gay  and  chattering  negro 
young  folk,  the  varied  complexions  and  costumes  of 
|)oor  whites  and  rich  whites — these  elements  seemed 
well  fitted  for  the  presiding  genius  of  a  mariner  from 
the  Aichipelago. 

The  wind  was   brisk,  and  so  we  ran  down  to  the 
fort  swiftly.     Sumter  is  a  ruin,  as  all  the  world  knows; 
2       but    possibly  all  the  world  does  not  know  that  on  the 
I       highest  point  of  its  walls  a  light-house  has  been  erected, 
"'       thus    utilizing    the    historic    ground.      One    experiences 
something   of    a   sensation,   as    he   picks   his  way  over 
the  broken  bricks  and  stones  of  this  fort,  and,  if  alone 
wcjuld  be  apt  to  drift  away  into  far  reaches  of  medita- 
tion.     On   the    piled-up    rocks  without   the  walls,  amid 
the   di'bris  of  masonry,  surrounded  by  remains  uf  can- 
non, shell,  and  round  shot,  we   picnicked — a  party,  one 
moiety   of  which    represented   those   who   assailed,  and 
the  other  moiety  those  who  defended,  the  walls. 

After  clambering  over  the  ruins,  penetratintr  the 
dark  underground  passages,  visiting  the  casemates  thai 
still  remain,  we  returned,  a  high  wind  giving  aniiii  itiim 
and  expedition  to  the  sail. 

Perhaps  the  greatest  charm  to  the  Charleston  vis- 
itor is  the  lowland  scenery  of  its  suburbs.     The  city  is 
situated   at   the   conlluence   of  the    Ashley  and  Cooper 
Rivers,  ant!    the    i)anks    of    these   streams  iiave   all    the   characteristics   of   Southern   land- 
sea|)es.     Oaks,  magnolias,  myrtles,  and  jasmines,  give  splendor  and  profusion  to  the  jiict- 
ure,  while   rice  fields  and   cotton-fields   vary   and    enrich    the    scene.      Here  once  resided, 


CHARLESTON   AND    ITS   SUBURBS. 


205 


during  a  part  of  the  year,  a  wealthy  aristocracy  ;  but,  alas !  nearly  every  mansion  is  in 
ruins.  The  destructive  arm  of  War  fell  upon  this  paradise  with  all  its  force,  nearly 
every  one  of  the  fine  old  houses  having  been  fired  (so  it  is  here  reported)  by  Federal  soldiers. 
Our  expedition  to  the  Ashley  we  shall  long  remember.  It  was  by  the  invitation  of 
Charleston  friends,  whose  hospitality  justified  the  social  reputation  of  the  city.  The  po- 
litical elements  composing  the  party  were  as  antagonistic  as  possible ;  but,  regardless  of 
North  or  South,  the  Ku-klux,  or  the  fifteenth  amendment,  we  gathered  in  peace.  There 
were  in  our  small  company  a  Northerner,  who  had  fought  under  the  Union  flag,  a 
descendant  of  one  of  the  proudest  names  of  Revolutionary  fame;   a  Virginian,  also  of  a 


A  l.ive-Oak  on  the  A^lilc 


famil)  of  renown,  whose  love  of  daring  and  danger  liad  led  hini  into  many  a  strange  ad- 
venture under  Mosby  ;  an  Englishman,  whose  enthusiasm  for  the  C\)nfederate  eause  had 
'niHii^ht  him  all  the  way  from  London  to  do  battle  under  Lee ;  another  Lngiishman, 
whose  sympathies  for  the  Federal  cause  had  been  marked  all  during  the  war;  a  son  of  a 
liisiinguished  journalist  of  New  \'ork,  whose  name  has  been  notably  identified  wi^h  the 
Ke|Hil)lican  party;  and,  lastly,  the  writer,  of  whose  political  complexion  it  is  not  neccs- 
s;u\  to  speak.  Hut,  in  the  face  of  all  these  elements  of  difference,  the  company  was 
sii|)rcmely  harmonious ;  and  the  day,  in  the  estimation  of  at  least  some  ot  us,  must  be 
marked  with  a  white  stone. 


2o6 


PICrURESOUE    AMERICA. 


./r 


The  main  road  from  Charleston  into  the  country  has  been  frequently  highly  praised, 
and,  although  some  of  the  fine  trees  that  bordered  it  have  been  destroyed,  it  is  still  an 
avenue  of  singular  beauty.  The  road  emerges  from  Charleston  almost  immediately  into 
a  green  wilderness,  and  for  a  long  distance  it  i,s  canopied  by  the  boughs  of  pines,  and 
oaks,  and  magnolias,  with  rich  effect.  There  are  no  signs  along  the  road,  as  would  be 
the  case  in  our  Northern  section,  of  the  proximity  of  a  great  city.  No  houses  or 
villas  line  the  way  ;  you  seem  a  hundred  miles  from  a  town.  You  meet  occasioniiily  a 
queer,  slight  cart,  drawn  by  an  ox  or  a  donkey  ;  you  pass  a  group  of  sportsmen  ;  you 
encounter  now  and  then  on  the  road-side  a  group  of  negroes.  An  illustration,  by  Mr. 
Fenn,  catches  the  spirit  of  the  scene  with  great  fidelity.  The  extemporized  covering  of 
boughs  shelters  a  "  sweet -'tater "  woman,  one  who  dispenses  to  hungry  wayfarers  of 
African  hue  the  edible  baked  potato  of  the  South. 

We  reached  Ashley  River  by  a  sort  of  by-road.  Here  a  bridge  once  spanned  the 
stream,  but  it  was  destroyed  during  the  war,  and  now  there  is  a  boat  propelled  bv  the 
lusty  arms  of  negro  ferrymen.  A  rope  would  aid  the  passage  greatly;  but  our  South- 
ern Africans  take  usually  the  most  troublesome  means  possible  to  accomplish  their  ends. 
They  are  proficient  in  the  art  of  how  not  to  do  a  thing.  When  we  reached  the  bank, 
the  boat  was  on  the  opjiosite  shore.  The  current  was  swift ;  it  took  fully  half  an  iioiir 
to  get  the  boat  over  to  us,  and  then  the  vessel  could  only  accommodate  one  of  our  two 
vehicles.  We  were  nearly  two  hours  getting  our  forces  to  the  opposite  side  of  the 
stream. 

Once  on  the  opposite  side,  we  were  driven  through  a  striking  scene— a  narrow  road 
winding  through  a  superb  Southern  forest,  where  the  mammoth  live-oak,  and  the  tall 
pine,  and  the  princely  magnolia  {Magnolia  grandijlora)  unite  to  form  vistas  of  rare 
beauty. 

The  live-oak  of  the  Southern  lowlands  is  the  most  picturesque  of  trees.  The  fa- 
mous California  trees  are  of  interest  solely  on  account  of  their  magnitude.  Tlnir  ui- 
gantic  proportions  impose  upon  tjit-'  imagination,  it  is  true  ;  but  they  lack  altogether  tiie 
(juaint,  fantastic,  and  picturesque  form  of  the  live-oak.  An  artist  could  make  a  sirics 
of  studies  of  these  trees  in  which  every  one  woulu  be  essentially  peculiar  in  form.  In 
the  illustration  of  the  banks  of  the  Ashley,  Mr.  Fenn  has  shown  two  of  these  trees, 
comparatively  small  in  size,  whose  trunks  stretch  out  for  a  distance  almost  horizontally; 
elsewhere  the  reader  will  find  an  illustratif)n  of  a  monstrous  trunk  standing  near  tiie 
Ashley,  which  in  diameter  almost  rivals  the  "big  trees"  of  the  Pacific,  and  whicii  in 
form  has  far  more  novelty  a  J  beauty.  We  saw  one  of  these  trees,  of  magnificent  pro- 
portions and  nearly  symmetrical  in  form.  We  lifted  the  low  branches,  that  nearly  s\vc|)l 
the  ground,  and  entered  what  seemed  a  vast  forest  cathedral.  The  (juaint  trunk  \va.s 
covered  with  knobbed  protuberances,  and  scarred  and  seamed  as  if  with  the  marks  of 
many  centuries.     Its  branches,  mammoth  liees  of  themselves,  shot  out   at  a  low  ilevaiioii 


H: 


'-^t.^.^'.!  ..i^i/iij.^^t.ai^aSj^i^i^ifj^^ 


bk; 


CHARLESTON   AND    ITS   SUBURBS. 


207 


'  MtgnoU*." 


in  a  nearly  liorizonta^  line,  ex- 
tending probably  a  hundred 
feet,  dipping  at  their  extremi- 
ties to  the  ground.  The  pen- 
dent moss  from  every  bough 
hung  in  long,  sweeping  lines, 
and  the  sun  flickered  through 
the  upper  branches,  touching 
up  moss,  bough,  and  trunk, 
and  relieving  the  gloom  of  the 
interior  with  bright  flashes  of 
light.  We  were  siiown  an 
avenue  of  live-oaks,  standing 
in  the  very  heart  of  the  forest, 
tiiat  would  make  a  superb  ap- 
proach to  the  finest  palace  in 
Europe.  But,  alas !  here  it 
leads  only  to  a  ruined  waste. 
A  romantic  story  is  connected 
with  this  avenue,  which  some 
poet  should  put  in  verse.  The 
young  owner  of  the  estate — 
this  was  many  years  ago — had 
brought  a  fair  bride  from  for- 
eign lands.  A  bridal  cavalcade 
swept  out  of  Charleston  to  es- 
cort groom  and  bride  to  the 
manorial  mansion  on  the  Asii- 
ley.  The  proud  and  eaj.er 
groom,  anxious  to  show  his 
young  wife  the  charms  of  her 
new  home,  urged  her  steed 
ahead  of  the  rest,  and,  when 
they  reached  the  avenue  of 
oaks,  called  upon  her  to  look 
and  admire.  Almost  as  they 
spoke,  a  cloud  of  smoke  aj)- 
peared  at  the  other  end  of  the 
avenue,    and    instantly    flames 


■  i       ! 


;    i 


208 


PICTURESQUE    AMERICA. 


of  fire  shot  up  among  the  tree-tops.  The  old  manor  was  in  a  l-.'aze,  and  the  liridc 
arrived  only  in  time  to  see  the  destruction  of  her  jiromised  paradise.  The  young  hus- 
band  was  so  cast  down  by  this  calamity  that  he  carried  his  wife  abroad,  and  never  re 
turned  to  his  American  estate.  Trees  and  bushes  have  grown  uj)  around  the  old  oaks, 
but  the  avenue  retains  all  its  distinct  majesty  amid  the  encroaching  growths  of  tin 
forest. 

Of  all  the  planters'  houses  that  stood  along  the  Ashley,  but  one  remains,  ami  this 
is  abandoned.  "Drayton  Hall"  is  a  large  brick  mansion,  standing  in  the  cent  10  of 
grounds  of  a  park-like  character.  The  rooms  are  wainscoted  from  Hoor  to  ceiling,  the 
fireplaces  are  lined  with  old-fashioned  colored  tiles,  and  the  mantels  are  richly  carved. 
but  the  building  was  nev.r  entirely  finished.  The  story  goes  that  it  was  erected  in 
exact  copy  of  an  English  mansion,  in  order  to  gratify  the  taste  of  the  lady  to  whom 
the  owner  was  betrothed.  The  wainscot,  the  tiles,  the  carved  mantels,  and  marble  col- 
umns, were  all  i.Tiportcd  from  England  ;  but,  ere  the  chivalrous  lover  had  reproduced  on 
'^'-  ■  Ashley  a  full  copy  of  the  house  which  had  charmed  his  betrothed  on  the  Thames, 
the  lady  died  ;  and,  since  then,  the  unfinished  manor,  like  a  broken  monumental  column, 
stands  in  its  incompleteness  a  memorial  of  his  loss. 

Our  destination  was  the  estate  known  by  the  name  of  "  Magnolia,"  on  ihe  grounds 
of  which  we  were  to  lunch.  This  place  is  almost  a  paradise,  but  a  paradise  in  ruins. 
The  abundance  of  magnolias  gives  it  its  name,  but  these  are  interspersed  with  im- 
mense oaks,  and,  at  the  time  we  were  there,  under  the  trees  a  splendid  display  of  ole- 
anders and  azaleas  filled  the  spaces  with  an  array  of  color  such  as  we  had  never  seen 
approached.  These  low-countr}^  plantations  were  not  usually  occupied  by  their  owners 
in  midsummer  ;  then  fevers,  heat,  and  insects,  made  them  far  from  safe  or  agreeable,  and 
so  the  white  members  of  the  ftimily  v.'cnt  into  town  or  northward  to  upland  habitations. 
This  accounts  for  the  special  culture  of  spring  blossoms  which  we  noticed  at  "  Mag- 
nolia." The  planter  hat!  given  devoted  attention  to  azaleas,  grouping  the  dilTiicnt 
shades  of  color  from  white  to  deep  scarlet  in  delicate  contrasts  ;  and  this  flower,  bloom- 
ing on  l)ushes  from  three  to  a  dozen  feet  in  height,  lined  all  the  winding  avenues,  and 
flashed  under  (he  shadows  of  the  magnolias  a  tropical  splendor  of  bloom  that  iillcd  us 
all  with  admiii'tion.  And  all  this  in  the  midst  of  desolation  and  neglect,  with  'ivcr- 
grown  pathways,  unweeded  beds,  and  the  blackened  walls  of  the  homestead  lodkinj; 
down  upon  the  scene!  A  few  negroes  were  in  possession,  and  one  tall,  melanilmlv. 
gray-haired  mulatto,  with  all  the  dignity  and  dejiortment  of  the  old  school,  lifted  his 
hat,  and  said:  "Welcome,  gentlemen,  to  Magnolia!"  On  the  border  of  a  small  lake 
within  the  grounds,  shadinved  by  the  moss-hung  boughs  of  the  oak,  we  lunched,  iiid 
then  bade  adieu  to  the  j)lace.  A  pathetic  story  is  told  of  the  ruined  proprietor,  who 
comes  often  to  his  old  favorite  grounds,  and  wanders  about  them  with  profound  nu  I m- 
choly,  or  sits  for  hours  with  his  face  in  his  hands,  brooding  over    his  desolated  honn 


CHARLESTON   AND    ITS    SUBURBS. 


209 


Tlu'  (iav  after  our  visit  to  Ashley  River  wo  drove  to  a  very  oKl  eluircii  on  (loose 
Crcei<,  near  Coojjer  I-iiver,  and  about  seventeen  miles  from  Charleston.  This  eluireh  was 
liuilt  in  I  "I  I.  It  is  situated  in  the  verv  heart  of  a  forest,  is  approaeiied  by  a  road 
scarcciv  l)etter  than  a  bridle-path,  and  is  entirelv  isolated  from  habitations  of  any  sort. 
.V  deep    diteh    surrounds    the    biiildino-,  dusx  as  a  means   of  proteetint;-    the    araves  within 


St.   James's   Church,   Goose  Creek. 


it  from  wild  animals.  Tiie  church  was  saved  from  destruction  bv  the  Tories  durin<>-  the 
UiMiJutionary  War  on  account  of  the  British  arms  that  are  emblazoned  ow  the  wall 
just  iibove  the  pul])it.  The  interior  is  very  odd.  Seventeen  stjuare  pews  (ill  u|)  the 
tiround-iloor,  which,  like  all  old  Knjrlish  churches,  is  of  stone.  .\  ^aller\  at  one  entl  has 
three  or  four  rows  of   benches,  and    under   this   fjallery  are   a  few  more  benches  designed 


2IO 


PICTURESQUE    AMERICA. 


^    sfliHwi 


Im< 


for  the  negro  servants.  The  altar,  the  reading-desk,  and  the  pulpit,  are  so  small,  and 
crowded  in  a  space  so  narrow,  that  they  seem  almost  miniatures  of  those  church  fix- 
tures. The  monumental  tablets  on  the  side  of  the  altar  are  very  oddly  ornamentud  in 
form,  and,  what  is  still  more  singular,  are  highly  emblazoned  in  color.  Although  these 
tablets  have  been  in  their  places  over  one  hundred  and  fifty  years,  the  colors  retain  ap- 
parently all  their  original  brilliancy.  The  lion  and  the  unicorn  over  the  pulpit  also 
preserve  their  original  tints.  These  specimens  of  old-time  fresco  gave  us  unexpected 
proof  of  the  duration  of  this  method  of  color-painting  ;  and  the  whole  chancel  in  its 
gay  tints  and  ornamental  carving  seemed  queerly  out  of  place  in  the  otherwise  jjlain 
and  rude  structure.  This  church  was  once  the  centre  of  flourishing  settlements,  but,  with 
the  decadence  that  has  come  over  the  old  Commonwealth,  the  plantations  are  forsaken, 
and  this  historical  vestige  stands,  in  the  midst  of  a  wilderness,  neglected  and  almost 
unknown.  Trees  and  bushes  have  overgrown  and  hid  the  gravestones,  and  the  native 
forest  threatens  in  time  to  obscure  the  very  foundations  of  the  building. 

Magnolia  Cemetery  is  one  of  the  places  in  Charleston  to  which  strangers  are  di- 
rected. It  is  a  new  cemetery,  and  its  name  is  rather  derived  from  what  is  e.xpectcil  of 
it  than  what  it  exhibits.  So  far,  very  few  magnolias  adorn  it,  but  there  are  some  live- 
oaks  exceptionally  fantastic  and  queer  in  form.  In  this  cemetery  is  a  monument  to 
Colonel  William  Washington,  whose  exploits  in  the  Revolution  are  well  known ;  to 
Hugh  Swinton  Legard,  one  of  the  ripest  scholars  South  Carolina  has  produced ;  and  in 
a  vault  repose  the  remains  of  Commodore  Vanderhorst,  whose  coffin,  shrouded  witii  tiie 
Union  Jack,  may  be  seen  through  the  latticed  door  of  the  tomb. 

W^e  may  here,  before  closing  our  article,  give  a  brief  glance  at  the  historical  record 
of  the  city.  It  was  originally  settled  about  1679 — over  fifty  years  before  the  city  of  Sa- 
vannah on  the  same  coast — by  an  English  colony  under  William  Sayle,  who  became 
first  governor.  Its  name  was  obviously  given  in  honor  of  Charles  II.,  who  then  was 
King  of  England.  Its  early  history  was  one  of  conflicts  with  Indians,  devastations  by 
storm  and  fire,  and  civil  commotions  with  the  lords  proprietors,  whose  authority  was 
eventually  deposed  in  favor  of  the  crown.  It  was  one  of  the  first  of  the  chief  places 
of  the  South  to  extend  its  sympathy  to  the  Northern  colonies  in  their  struggle  with  the 
mother-country,  and  led  the  way  in  asserting  its  own  independence.  Its  history  during 
the  Revolution  was  of  struggle  and  misfortune.  It  was  three  times  assaulted  In  the 
enemy  :  first,  in  the  memorable  attack  on  the  palmetto  fort  at  Sullivan's  Island,  when 
the  British  licet  and  army  were  beaten  ofT;  next,  by  the  attempted  coup  dc  main  of 
General  Prevost  ;  and,  thirdly,  by  Sir  Henry  Clinton,  when  it  stood  a  siege  of  si.x 
weeks,  and  succumbed  at  last  to  fiimine.  Of  its  strange  and  often  brilliant  history  since 
the  formation  of  the  Union,  of  its  position  as  the  leader  of  Southern  sentiment  and 
politics,  we  need  not  speak  ;  nor  is  it  necessary  to  recount  the  severe  vicissitudes 
through  which    it   passed   in   the   late  unhappy  struggle.     We   must   recall,  however,  the 


CHARLESTON   AND    ITS  SUBURBS. 


211 


days  when  it  was  at  the  hcij^lit  of  its  glory — when  it  was  the  centre  of  a  far-extending 
circle  of  brilliant  homes,  and  its  old  mansions  echoed  to  the  tread  of  famous  statesmen 
and  renowned  women.  We  recollect  the  report  of  the  noted  Elkanah  Watson,  who,  just 
after  tlie  Revolution,  travelled  from  Providence  to  Charleston  in  a  buggy,  and  whose  de- 
scriptiniis  of  the  towns  and  cities  he  visited  are  usually  accepted  as  trustworthy.  The 
wealth  and  luxury  of  Charleston  surprised  the  Rhode-Islander,  and  he  speaks  of  the  al- 
most "Asiatic  splendor"  in  which  the  citizens  lived.  Charleston  was  the  centre  of  a 
somcwiiat  peculiar  civilization,  and  one  highly  favorable  to  the  cultivation  of  the  few.  It 
was  resorted  to  in  summer  as  a  watering-place  by  the  people  of  the  country.  The 
planters  brought  with  them  wealth  and  leisure,  and  these  naturally  led  to  luxurious  tastes 
and  habits.  We  doubt  if  any  community  of  the  same  number  has  produced  so  many 
men  of  distinguished  merit.  Pinckney,  Rutledge,  Gadsden,  Legarc,  arc  but  the  leading 
names  of  a  host  of  worthies  who  shed  bright  lustre  on  the  place.  We  may  hope  yet  to 
see  the  old  plantations  on  the  Coojier  and  the  Ashley  attain  a  prosperity  under  the  new 
dispensation  as  brilliant  as  that  they  enjoyed  under  the  old  ;  we  may  trust  that  the  old 
mansions  within  the  city  shall  renew  the  social  triumphs  of  their  brilliant  past ;  and  we 
may  believe  that  statesmen  and  men  of  letters  will  not  fail  to  perpetuate  that  renown 
the  famous  city  once  so  fairly  won  and  so  fully  enjoyed. 


Magnolia  Cemetery. 


WEYER'S    CAVE.    VIRGINIA. 


WITH    ILLUSTRATIONS    HY    HAKKY    FENN. 


•  ■.  •*   .  -  •?  1 


i;  ' 

:i  i 


,i^ 


The  Entrance. 

\i  n:vi-:[^'s  cavi-:,  which  ii^ 

^  ^       liiTii       not       iiiappnipiiiililv 

tcmud    llic    .\iui|)ai()s    of   X'iijrinia,   is   <\\\\- 

atfd    in    iIr'   northwestern    part    of   AiimiMi 

County,    about    seventeen    miles    north    ni 

Staunton,    and    a    few    mili-s    west    ol    iln 

13iue-Rid>re  Mountains.     It    is    located    in   a    larjje    hill,  or  rather   a   s|)ur  of  a    ran^.    nl 

small    mountains,    hranchinfi   out    southwesterly    from    tliis   si)ine   of  the   Atlantic   u.iui- 

shed,  and  for  many  miles  overhanyinj;  its  uppermost  Irihutaries. 

This  cavern  derives  its  name  from  one  Heriu.rd  Wever,  a  dweller  in  the  niit^lilitir- 
hood,  who  discovered  it  while  huntin){  an  opossum,  ferretinjj  out  the  little  animal  m  ii" 
retreat  within  the  mouth.  It  is  a|)pr(;ached  from  ihc  rustic  inn.  half  a  mile  distant.  \<\'  i 
broad  carriage-road  Id  the  fool  of  the  liill,  .md  thence  by  a  zigzag,  precipitous  fot)l-i';iili 
to  the  opening  near  the  crest  of  the  summll. 


WEVER'S    CAVE,    VIRGINIA.  213 

The  entrance,  when  discovered,  was  scarcely  larfje  enough  for  Mr.  Weyer  to  enter 
on  his  li.inds  and  knees;  and  his  astonishment  and  terror  may  be  imuf^^ined  when  on  and 
on  lie  groj)ed  in  the  darkness,  without  findino^  the  cunninjr  little  quadruped  which  had 
secured  such  commodious  and  gorgeous  ([uarters.  Since  then  the  entrance  has  been 
enlartjed,  so  as  to  be  about  seven  feet  in  height,  and  is  covered  over  by  a  rustic  shed, 
to  whieli  is  affixed  a  strong  wooden  gate,  secured  by  a  heavy  lock. 

A  eiiill  creeps  over  one  upon  entering,  and  he  feels  an  intensity  of  awe  as  he  looks 
forward,  i)cyond  the  dim,  llickering  lights  in  the  k  '  '.'.c^s,  to  the  profound  darkness  which 
spreads  its  impenetrable  gloom  in  the  distance.  '  ut  "~L'  guide  is  master  of  his  business; 
he  is  cheerful,  facetious,  loquacious ;  and,  windi-. .'  :t  \  arn  of  some  adventurous  explorer 
iicfore  liis  visitor  (perhaps  some  illustrious  persv.nage — the  Duke  of  liuckinghani,  who 
sadly  olTended  a  liege  lord  of  America;  I'Vederika  Bremer,  who,  in  her  geological  re- 
searches here,  was  taken  by  a  neighboring  husbandman  to  be  an  escaped  unfortunate 
from  tlie  Staunton  Lunatic  Asylum ),  or  cracking  some  wily  joke,  leads  on  until  dusky, 
indelinalile  figures  loom  up  in  the  midnight,  when  by  a  skilful  shifting  of  his  lights  are 
iliscdveretl  all  around  grim,  grotesque  stalagmites,  and  opening  out  is  a  long  gallery,  at 
the  nether  end  of  which  a  single  mute,  stark-wiiite  figure  gives  to  this  apartment  its  sig- 
niheaiit  title,  the  (ihost-Chamijer. 

I'min  this  tiie  Hall  of  Statuarv  is  entered,  when  imagination  readily  conjures  up  tiie 
;falkiies  of  tiie  X'atican  by  moonlight,  or  rather  by  torciilight.  Abovo,  in  tlie  ce  ling, 
is  a  circular  opening,  aiiout  fifteen  feet  in  diameter,  fringed  around  witii  white,  spar- 
kliiii:  stalactites.  Through  this  opening  is  seen  the  interior  of  a  ilome  many  feet 
hioiier,  draped  and  columned  as  by  the  deft  hand  of  some  fantastir  architect.  Upon 
one  side  of  this  hall  is  tlu'  similitudt-  of  an  altar,  with  curtains  and  candlesticks  on  the 
tn|);  and,  on  the  otiur,  fancy  brings  out  a  cathedral-organ,  with  its  rows  of  pipes  and 
pendent   cornices. 

A  few  paces  forward,  and  down  a  rude  lligiit  of  some  twent\'  steps,  we  reach  the 
("atai.iet,  seemingly  a  water-fall  petrilied  in  its  leap,  allording  oiu'  of  the  finest  spectacles 
in  the  cave.  The  sullen  stillness  of  this  hushed  Niagara  is  verv  impressive,  and  instinc- 
livelx  leads  the  imagination  to  the  roaring  and  rushing  green  waters  of  llu'  true  cataract 
>illei  uhieli  it   is  named. 

A  little  farther  on  i«  the  Senate-Chamber,  with  the  '•peaker's  chair  at  one  end,  in 
Innii  of  which  are  rude  representations  of  the  desks  of  the  liononible  members;  nid 
iliiivi,  at  one  side,  is  an  unmistakabli-  gallerv,  fenced  around  by  a  faneitul  balustnde, 
over  which  seemingly  peer  the  luails  of  \yailing  visitors. 

Next  in  onler  comes  the  Cafhi'dr.il,  from  the  icnire  of  which  hangs  the  fancied 
n";' niMince  to  a  chandelier;  and  beyond  it  rises  the  |)ulpil,  an  elevated  circular  desk, 
Kiviiid  with  the  most  graceful  folds  of  white  drapery.  On  the  opposit«'  side  is  a  bal- 
daehiii    fringed    with    glittering    crystals,  the    whole    ceiling    being    hung   with    stalactites, 


l.l.EUf'AIIIA'£>    NEIiULE     AND     ANIHUNY'S     I'll-LAH. 


WEYER'S    CAVE.    VIRGINIA. 


215 


dropping  in  long  points  and  broad,  wavy  sheets,  some  of  milky  whiteness,  others  of  a 
muddy  red  bordered  with  white,  or  with  the  darker  corneUan  shades  of  the  Piedmont 
brown.  This  apartment  has  also  been  vulgarly  termed  the  Tan- Yard,  the  broad  sheets 
of  vellow  spar  suggesting  a  striking  resemblance  to  hides  hung  to  dry.  These  stone 
draperies  are  translucent,  faintly  emitting  the  rays  of  light  when  a  candle  is  held  behind 
them ;  and  also  sonorous,  yielding  soft  musical  tones,  like  the  gently-touched  keys  of  an 
organ,  o\\  lie'ing  struck,  while  all  the  notes  of  the  gamut  may  be  produced  by  skilful 
blows,  the  side-walls  responding  to  blows  of  the  hand  or  foot  with  the  echoing  notes 
of  "deep-toned  bells." 

In  this  vicinity  a  huge  pyramidal  heap  of  cornelian-tinted  stalagmite,  veined  and 
spotted  with  white,  as  is  the  Swiss  stone,  sustains  on  one  side  a  tall,  slender,  towering 
column,  which  has  received  the  name  of  Cleopatra's  Needle  ;  and  on  the  right  a  more 
massive  and  taller  shaft,  bearing  the  appellation  of  Anthony's  Pillar,  rears  its  pointed 
head  until  it  touches  the  sparkling  stalactites  that  stud  the  dark  ceiling  ;  and  all  around 
are  formations  more  or  less  resembling  objects  in  Nature,  or  as  wild  and  weird  as  the 
most  imaginative  brain  could  conjure  out  for  fiction. 

From  this  section  of  tiie  cavern,  a  natural  stairway,  with  natural  supports  on  the 
left  hand,  is  descended,  called  Jacob's  Ladder;  and,  beyond,  a  square  rock  covered  with 
awhile  incrustation,  resembling  a  table-cloth,  is  called  Jacob's  Tea-Table;  and  near  by 
is  an  ominous-looking  cavity,  bearing  the  name  of  Jacob's  Ice-Housc,  or  the  IJottomless 
Pit.  Whether  bottomless  or  not,  has  never  yet  been  fully  ascertained;  but,  it  is  cer- 
tain, a  torch  dropped  in  seems  to  twinkle  away  into  infinite  nothingness,  and  a  stone 
let  fall  returns  no  sound  tcj  the  waiting  listener. 

In  this  part  of  Weyer's  Cave  is  what,  for  want  of  a  more  appropriate  term,  must 
be  called  the  (leyser,  an  immense  stalagmitic  jcretion,  with  streaks  and  sparkles  of 
white,  lighting  the  waves  of  the  cumuli  as  tlie  play  of  sunlight  the  turbulent  volumes 
of  one  of  Nature's  boiling  si)rings. 

I'arther  on  is  Washington's  llill,  otherwise  called  the  (Inome-King's  Palace,  rising 
intu  a  vaul  :ed  roof,  upward  of  ninety  fed  in  height  and  lioo  hundred  and  fifty  in 
Icntjlh.  An  intelligent  traveller,  who  once  visited  Weyer's  Cave  at  an  annual  illumi- 
natiuii,  has  thus  finely  described  this  magnificent   anartment  : 

"  There  is  a  fine  sheet  of  rock-work  running  up  the  centre  of  this  room,  and  giving 
it  the  aspect  of  two  separate  and  tmble  galleries,  till  you  look  above,  where  you  ob- 
serve the  partition  rises  only  about  twenty  feet  toward  the  roof,  and  leaves  the  fine 
aah  expanding  over  your  head.  There  is  a  beauti  ul  concretion  here,  standing  out  in 
the  room,  which  certamly  has  the  form  and  drapery  of  a  gigantic  statue.  It  bears 
the  ii.nne  of  the  nation's  hero  ,  and  the  whole  pl.ice  is  tilled  with  these  projections 
.il'|"">''nnces  which  excite  the  imagination  b-  suggesting  resemblances  and  leaving 
Ihini    unfinished.      The    general    ellect,   too,   w«»   perhaps    indescribable.      The    fine   per- 


Ill 


I  HK    ai-.YSEU 


WEVJiR'S    CAVE,    VIRGINIA. 


217 


spective  of  this  room,  four  times  the  length  of  an  ordinary  church ;  the  numerous  tapers, 
when  near  you  so  encumbered  by  deep  shadows  as  to  give  only  a  dim,  religious  light, 
and,  when  at  a  distance,  appearing  in  their  various  attitudes  like  twinkling  stars  on  a 
deep-dark  heaven ;  the  amazing  vaulted  roof  spread  over  you,  with  its  carved  and  knotted 
surface,  fo  which  the  streaming  lights  below  in  vain  endeavored  to  convey  their  ra- 
diance ;  together  with  the  impression  that  you  had  made  so  deep  an  entrance,  and  were 
so  entirely  cut  off  from  the  living  world  and  ordinary  things — produce  an  effect  which, 
perhaps,  the  mind  can  conceive  but  once,  and  will  retain  forever." 

It  is  a  trick  of  the  guide  to  extinguish  the  tapers  when  in  this  hall,  and  leave  the 
visitors  for  a  few  moments  to  experience  the  Cimmerian  darkness — darkness  which  can 
almost  1)0  felt — the  utter  abstraction  of  what  gives  life  and  beauty  to  the  outer 
world. 

Near  this  apartment  is  Lady  Washington's  Bedchamber,  on  one  side  of  which  is 
a  rude  resemblance  to  a  couch,  with  a  milk-white  canopy,  richly  fluted  around  ;  while 
on  the  other  side  of  the  beautiful  little  room  is  a  toilet-table,  with  snowy  drapery,  over- 
iiung  by  an  imaginary  mirror,  and  scattered  over  with  the  usual  paraphernalia  of  a  lady's 
dressing-room. 

In  this  vicinity  is  the  Bridal  Veil,  a  splendid  sheet  of  white,  glittering,  translucent 
spar,  which  seems  thrown  over  a  hat,  or,  as  has  been  suggested  by  others,  the  shelving 
back  of  an  immense  Spanish  comb,  and  hangs  in  full,  classic  folds  or  heavy  volutes 
ahnost  to  the  clay-red  flooring  of  the  little  chamber. 

And,  on  and  on,  one  is  conducted,  through  narrow  passages  and  more  commodious 
iirehes ;  up  and  down  precipices ;  among  tumbling  heaps  of  pilasters,  columns,  anil  friezes, 
divided  by  strata  at  regular  or  irregular  intervals,  and  pillared  with  the  skill  of  the 
arehittct  and  mathematician,  like  the  ruins  of  some  vast  Old-VVorld  temple  ;  before  the 
Diamond  Mountain,  flashing  with  its  buried  gems,  and  stalked  over  by  the  gigantic  and 
ghostly  Crane,  which  looks  inquiringly  toward  the  Rising  Moon  that  throws  its  silvery 
li^dit  out  in  the  voiceless  midtiigiu  ;  and  on  and  on,  until  we  arrive  at  the  end  of  the 
cavern,  and  are  refreshed  by  a  glass  of  as  sparkling  water  as  ever  gushed  from  upper- 
worKl  fountain  and  made  merry  music  in  the  glad  sunlight 

This  subterranean  spring  is  perfectly  incrusted  with  stalactites  and  stalagmites;  and 
an  earthen  jar  kept  in  tiiis  part  of  the  grotto,  where  the  water  is  constantly  dripping 
from  the  ceiling,  is  incrusted  with  younger  but  similar  concretions. 

Tlie  egress  is  somewhat  varied  from  the  ingress;  and,  in  returning,  the  visitor  is 
conducted  to  the  Tower  of  Babel,  or  Magic  Tower,  a  huge,  columnar  accretion,  rising 
III  (lie  height  of  thirty  feet  or  more,  irregularly  divided  liy  strata  at  distances  of  ten 
iir  luclve  inches,  ami  fluted  around  i)y  pillars  an   inch  or  more  iti  diametei'. 

riie  Tower  of  Babel  is  perhaps  the  most  regular  and  symmetrical  formation  in  all 
this  wonderful    grotto,   and    must    readily   suggests   the   title    it    k-ars.       It    c)ccu|)ies   the 


SOKNEB     IN     WEYEHS     CAVE 


WE  YEN'S    CAIE,    VIRGINIA. 


219 


centre  of  an  apartment  filled  with  indefinable  figures,  which    may  suggest    statues,  ghosts, 
(Toblins,  or  whatever  will  best  please  the  fancy. 

Near  this  is  the  Oyster-Shell,  consisting  of  two  huge,  shelving  pieces  of  spar,  of  a 
peculiar  grayish  white,  and  absurdly  resembling  the  late  home  of  a  defunct  monster  bi- 
valve. .'Vnd  Nature,  to  vindicate  her  providence,  in  close  proximity  to  this  fanciful 
concretion,  has  placed  Solomon's  Meat-House,  from  the  fretted  and  groined  roof  of 
which  is  suspended  a  Leg  of  Mutton — a  single  instance  of  the  old  king's  gastronomic 
propensities.  In  prudent  nearness  to  the  Meat-House  is  Solomon's  Temple,  or,  as  it  is 
better  known,  the  Shell-Room.  In  the  centre  of  this  apartment  rises  a  massive  column 
of  dazzling  white,  as  rich  with  gi  loves  and  flutings  as  if  chiselled  out  to  fill  an  artistic 
design ;  and  this  reaches  the  ceiling,  which  is  thickly  studded  with  sparkling  stalactites, 
reflecting,  as  the  tapers  are  held  underneath  them,  the  hue  and  lustre  of  every  gem 
that  holds  light  imprisoned.  The  Shell-Room,  from  the  radish-like  shape  of  the  stalac- 
tites that  hang  from  the  ceiling,  has  also  been  called  the  Radish-Room ;  while  almost 
every  intelligent  visitor  finds  some  suggestive  title  to  this  magnificent  hal!. 

And  this,  with  the  'Possum-up-the-Gum-Tree^doubtless,  Weyer's  opossum,  upon  the 
final  capture  of  which  tradition  is  silent — completes  a  list  of  the  most  noticeable  of  the 
manv  noticeable  freaks  in  which  Nature  indulges  in  these  subterranean  retreats. 

(Jut  of  the  usual  route  of  exploration,  but  to  be  visited  by  special  request,  is  a 
most  beautiful  pond,  over  which  is  the  shelving  sheet  of  spar  from  which  the  specimens 
usually  sold  are  obtained.  As  a  visit  to  this  lake  Is  very  fatiguing  anil  somewhat  dan- 
Ijerous,  it  is  not  generally  attempted,  but  well  repays  all  fatigue  or  danger  incurred. 

A  few  moments  after  leaving  the  Shell-Room,  the  visitor  grows  sensible  that  the 
dim  candles  emit  a  dimmer  light ;  if  in  summer,  a  warmer,  and,  if  in  winter,  a  colder, 
,Unios|)here  greets  one;  ar.d,  clim.bing  a  slight  ascent,  he  is  once  more  in  the  face  of  day, 
and  listening  to  other  sounds  than  that  of  the  human  voice  alone. 

"  \Veyer's  Cave,"  says  the  writer  (juoted,  "  is,  in  my  judgment,  one  of  the  great  natu- 
ral uiinders  of  the  New  World,  and,  for  its  eminence  in  its  own  class,  deserves  to  be 
ranked  with  the  Natural  Bridge  and  Niagara,  while  it  is  far  less  known  than  cither. 
its  dimensions,  by  the  most  direct  course,  are  more  than  sixteen  hundred  feet,  and,  by 
the  more  winding  paths,  twice  that  length ;  and  its  objects  are  remarkable  for  their 
variety,  formation,  and  beauty.  In  both  respects,  it  will,  I  think,  compare  without  injury 
to  itself  with  the  celebrated  grotto  of  Antiparos." 

Within  a  few  hundred  yards  of  Weyer's  Cave  is  Madison's  Cave,  described  by  Mr. 
Jefferson  ;  but  it  is  less  interesting  than  the  former.  Indeed,  it  is  supposed  that  the 
entin    mountain  is  a  cavern,  and,  it  is  hoped,  in  time  will  be  fully  explored. 


liii 


SCENES    ON    THE    BRANDYWINE. 


ILLUSTRATIONS    BY    CRANVII.I.E    PERKINS 


:i 


il 


IV  T  O  minor  stream  in  our  country  enjoys  a  wider  reputation  than  the  Urandywine. 
^  ^  Its  identification  with  our  early  history  renders  its  queer  title  familiar  to  students 
in  all  paiiM  of  the  land,  while  its  rare  beauties  have  been  delineated  by  painters,  pniised 
by  poets,  and  described  by  tourisis,  until  few  of  us  have  not  some  pleasant  recollection 
or  anticipation  connected  with  its  wooded  shores.  It  possesses  attractions  for  the  lover 
of  the  picturesque  that  are  distinctively  its  own.  Other  streams  are  perhaps  as  beauti- 
ful as  the  Brandywine,  but  no  other  unites  the  beauty  of  wooded  heights  and  tumltliiifr 
water-falls  with  structures  of  art  that  give  rare  charm  and  even  quaintness  to  the  picluit'. 
What  is  there  in  an  old  mill  by  a  brook  that  fiiscinates  so  quickly  the  eye  of  an  artist 
and  the  heart  of  a  poet  ?     Long   before  Ro^o^s  told  us  of  his  earnest  wish — 

"  Mine  be  a  cot  beside  the  hill  ; 

A  beehive's  hum  shall  soothe  tny  ear ; 
A  willowy  brook  that  turns  a  mill, 

With  many  a  fall,   shall  linger  near" — 

all    lovers  of  the   picturesque   delighted   in    brook-side   mills.     Probably  no  object  in  N  i- 


222 


PICTURESQUE    AMERICA. 


ture  or  art  has  been  so  often  drawn  and  painted.  And  yet,  familiar  as  we  are  with  old 
mills  nestling  quaintly  amid  summer  foliage,  we  always  discover  a  fresh  fascination  in 
each  new  example.  Was  there  ever  an  artist  who  could  resist  the  desire  to  add  ;i  new- 
sketch  of  a  subject  of  this  kind  to  his  portfolio  ?  Whether  the  mill  be  one  quaint  and 
fantastic  by  virtue  of  its  decay  and  ruin,  or  one  that  lifts  its  walls  from  the  rivcr-Ldjjc 
in  large  pretension,  there  is  always  a  strange  pleasure  in  this  combination  of  the  beau- 
tiful and  the  useful.  The  brook-side  mill  affords  us  almost  the  only  instance  of  labor 
that  is  graceful,  picturesque,  and  seductive.  We  can  imagine  a  life  of  labor  under  the 
sweet  and  inspiring  conditions  of  musical  water-falls,  shadowy  forests,  soft  airs  hulened 
with  the  perfume  of  wild- (lowers,  that  would  possess  a  certain  rich  and  munificent 
poetic  calm.  Too  often  labor  mars  the  landscape  it  enters,  but  the  mill  seems  to  par- 
take of  the  spirit  of  its  surroundings,  to  gain  a  charm  from  woods  and  waters,  and  im 
give  one.  This  is  peculiarly  true  of  the  factories  along  the  Brandywine.  They  arc  of 
sufficient  age  to  have  mellowness  and  tone  ;  glaring  red  brick  does  not  enter  into  their 
composition  ;   and  they  greatly  vary  and  brighten  the  beauty  of  each  woodland  picture. 

The  Brandywine  was  called  by  the  first  settlers,  who  were  Swedes,  "  Fish-kiln,"  a 
prosaic  designation  that  fortunately  did  not  cling  to  it.  Its  present  title,  while  eupho- 
nious and  distinctive,  is  somewhat  difficult  to  explain.  It  is  ascribed  by  tradition  to  the 
loss  of  a  Dutch  vessel  laden  with  brandy,  or  bratid-ivijn.  The  wreck  occurred  in  1665, 
in  the  river  just  above  its  junction  with  the  Christiana,  and  the  shattered  remains  lav 
long  in  the  waters,  serving  as  a  meinento  to  keep  alive  in  the  heart  of  the  comniunitv 
ceaseless  regret  for  the  loss  of  such  good  liquor,  until  the  mourning  Dutch  sought  to 
soothe  their  sorrow  by  naming  the  stream  in  mcmoriam,  hoping,  like  Dogberry,  to  draw 
comfort  from  their  losses.  Many  a  greater  river  has  been  named  for  a  smaller  cause,  as 
is  sadly  witnessed  by  the  Big  Horns  and  Little  Horns,  the  Snakes  and  the  Ottci-tails; 
and  the  alleged  reason  may  well  be  accepted ;  yet  a  few  dissatisfied  historians  have 
sought  to  ascribe  the  name  to  the  supposition  that  a  slough  on  the  East  Branch,  above 
tlie  present  borough  of  Downingtown,  forinerly  discharged  into  the  current  a  muddy 
stream  that  tinted  it  into  the  color  of  brandy-and-watcr.  Such  a  libel  upon  the  clear 
complexion  of  the  creek  must  be  instantly  disavowed. 

The  Brandywine  finds  its  head  in  the  brooks  issuing  from  the  eastern  declivity  of 
the  line  of  hills  that  form  part  of  the  boundary  between  the  counties  of  (Chester  and 
Lancaster,  in  Pennsylvania.  These  hills  are  fairly  entitled  to  their  name  of  the  Welsh 
Mountain,  as  their  height  makes  them  the  water-shed  from  which  streamlets  tend  east- 
ward to  the  Schuylkill,  and  westward  to  the  Susquehanna.  The  summit,  possessing  all 
the  characteristics  ot  a  true  mountain-top  in  its  stunted  growths  and  cool  breezes,  re- 
veals an  extended  view  of  the  adjacent  country,  while  the  range  marks  the  climatic 
limit  which  makes  Chester  County  display  the  green  banners  of  approaching  sumnii  r  in 
advance  of  her  fertile  but  more  tardy  sister  of  Lancaster. 


SCENES    ON    THE    /i RANDY  WINE. 


223 


Although  rising  in  close  proximity,  the  two  branches  of  the  Brandywine  immediately 
diverge— the  East  Branch  to  flow  eastwardly  and  then  south ;  the  West  Branch  to  How 
soutli  and  then  east,  until  they  meet  again,  after  a  very  winding  course  of  about  twenty 
milis.  Thence,  as  the  Brandywine  proper,  the  creek  flows  in  a  southeasterly  direction 
tlirouirli  Chester  County,  forming  part  of  the  line  of  division  between  it  and  Delaware 
County,  in  Pennsylvania,  and  afterward  passing  through  the  State  of  Delaware  until  it 
unites  with  Christiana  Creek,  a  little  above  its  entrance  into  the  Delaware  River. 

An  endless  series  of  pictures  marks  the  course  of  the  stream,  and  all  its  affluent 
brooklets   partake   of  the   same   romantic   grace   as   they    flow   among   the    verdant   hills 


Bridge  over  the   Brandywine. 


r  summer  in 


thiouirji  the  flower-decked  plains  and  rocky  dells  that  distinguish  the  region  which  it  ir- 
ri.Hiitis.  Rock,  woods,  and  water,  mingle  in  scores  of  scenes  of  varied  beauty,  which, 
although  differing  in  the  lavish  prodigality  of  Nature's  handiwork,  yet  resemble  in  gen- 
eral characteristics  the  scenery  shown   in  our  initial  illustration. 

The  channel  is  frequently  narrowed  by  rocky  and  precipitous  banks  until  the  creek 
—as  the  Brandywine  is  often  ignominiously  termed — becomes  a  rippling  rapid,  and  its 
force  and  value  are  proved  by  the  innumerable  mills  that  are  built  upon  it.  The  rapid 
liesctht  of  the  stream  for  a  few  miles  above  its  mouth  furnishes  the  power  to  the  mills 
for  which   the  city  of  Wilmington  is  so  famous,  and  the  multitude  of  smaller  ones  erected 


2  24 


PIC  TURESQ  UE    A  ME  RICA. 


on   the  upper  waters   of  the   creek    bear   witness   to   the    fertility  of    Chester   County,  to 

which  William  Penn  gave  a  plough  as  an  armorial  bearing. 

Yet,  to  those  familiar  with  its  wandering  course,  the  lirandywine  must  ever  seem  in 

memory — 

"A  silver  thread  with  sunsets  strung  upon  it  thiclc,  like  pearls." 

Despite  its  services  in  the  gigantic  flouring-mills,  or  even  its  dark  deeds  in  the 
manufacture  of  gunpowder,  it  is  throughout  a  great  part  of  its  course  a  peaceful  wood- 
land-rivulet, softly  washing  verdant   banks,  or  lapsing  gently  around  mossy  rocks.     Ueinj; 


"  Kisini;   Sun." 

navigable  for  only  a  short  distance  above  the  mouth,  its  very  uselessness  to  the  voyager 
has  screened  it  from  many  of  the  injuries  of  "  improvements,"  and  the  great  rocks  stand 
untouched,  while  fern  and  laurel  nestle  about  them,  softening  their  ruggedness  into 
beauty  ;  and  mosses,  the  growth  of  centuries,  steal  the  echo  from  intrusive  feet,  F.ven 
the  tributary  streams  that  wander  through  the  more  open  valleys  are  usually  fringed 
with  foliage,  and  the  green,  waving  plumes  of  the  cultivated  weeping-willow  and  the 
silvery-gray  wands  of  the  water -willow  mingle  in  the  wind  with  the  white,  feathery 
branches  of  the  blossoming  chestnut-trees,  which  grow  to  such  rare  beauty  in  this  region. 
Having  its   source    in    high    lands,  the    creek   is   remarkably  subject    to   changes,  the 


Countv,  to 


vcr  seem  m 


eds  in  the 
iceful  wood- 
'Cks.     Being 


the  voyafter 

rocks  stand 

fcdness   into 

feet,     F.ven 

ally    friiijred 

>\v    and  tiic 

ite,    featlicry 

this  region. 

changes,  the 


226 


PICTURESQUE    AMERICA. 


water  sometimes  creeping  sluggishly  as  a  narrowing  thread  amid  exposed  rocks,  and  anon 
willi  terrifying  rapidity  rising  eight,  ten,  or  even  twenty  feet  above  its  usual  hcigln. 
(ireen  mea(k)ws,  embroidered  with  the  delicate,  faint  blossoms  of  the  Quaker- lady,  the 
lovely  wintl-flower,  and  the  sweet  violet,  and  laced  with  a  broad  band  of  silvery  water 
rippling  gently  over  the    stones,  will    be    changed    in    a    few  hours    into   a    tempest -ti)sscd 


L'H(JiT   l'i>« (III  Works. 

lake,  upon    which    wrecked   bridges   and   floating  timlurs  are  dashing    franlicalh    iniiln' 
while  the   grunts  of  a  protesting    pig.  pleading    tor    rescue    from    an    involuntary  vc  i^m 
mingle  wi'ii  the  clamor  from  an  eddying  hen-coop,  whose   clucking   inmates   arc  clinumu 
III   their  own  roiif-trce  in   liorror  at  the  havoc. 

The    Hrandvwine,  which,  tlowinji    through    meadow  and    mead    as    it    ncars  the   IHl.'- 


SCENES    ON    THE    BRANDYVVINE. 


7 


\van',  forms,  with  the  Christiana,  two  outstretched  arms,  between  which  lies  the  city  of 
W'ilminjiton,  exhibits  some  of  its  greatest  charms  in  tiic  hiil-rej^ion  just  beliind  tiie 
^liv.  Its  banks  are  a  fjreat  natural  park  for  the  denizens  of  the  busy  town,  who  are 
iicvtr  linil  <'f  resorting  to  them  for  rest  and  recreation.  The  shores  are  steep  on  either 
side;  the  trees  are  of  splendid  growth,  often  interlocking  above  the  stream  in  frati-rnal 
cmliracc,  letting  the  sunshine  in  upon  the  svs'ift  current  in  shimmers  of  glancing  light. 
There  is  a  superb  drive  along  the  stream,  dense  with  shadow  at  the  very  height  of 
noon,  and  affording,  through  the  ever-fresh  verdure,  delightful  glimpses  of  tin-  river.  But 
till'  charms  of  the  stream  are  best  appreciated  by  the  foot-path  along  the  edge  of  tlu' 
water,  over  which  the  lofty  trees  hang  superbly,  while  the  swift  current  now  Hashes  and 
irurfjles  over  a  shallow  bed,  now  deepens  and  widens  into  calm  and  lovely  lakes,  now 
liips,  a  miniature  Niagara,  ovir  a  rocky  declivity.  Pedestrians  clamber  the  precipitous 
rocks,  under  rich  forest-shades,  to  pluck  fern,  sweet-brier,  and  honeysuckle;  while  the  ro- 
mance of  the  adventure  is  heightened  In  the  pro.ximity  of  powder-mills,  iiuilt  expressly 
ID  Imrst  out  upon  the  water. 

Some  very  old  and  pictures(|ue  Hour-mills  staml  not  far  from  the  mouth  of  the  river, 
where  it  is  crossed  by  a  bridge  near  the  city,  and  close  by  is  the  ruin  of  n  grist-mill, 
which.  traditi(m  declares,  was  in  operation  at  the  time  of  the  Kevolulion,  and  reiidi-red 
iniine<liate  service  to  the  patriotic  cause  by  grinding  corn  for  the  use  of  Washington's 
arinv  when  .it  X'alli'V  iMirge.  This  is  an  object  of  no  little  interest,  whether  considered 
hi'itoricaliy  or  with  a  view  \.,  the  pieturestpie,  and  om  artist  has  given  a  view  of  it.  .\ 
viTV  little  way  u|>  the  stream,  in  tin-  heart  of  its  sylvan  beauties,  at  a  location  known  as 
Kidele's  bank,  are  cotton-miUs  of  large  extent  and  eminently  picturesque  setting.  The 
sccn(  here  is  delicious.  One  lingers  in  the  (h-nse  shadows  of  the  forest-covered  bank  with 
ikli)fht,  and  discovers,  in  the  mingled  sounds  of  rushing  water  and  buz/ing  wheels,  a 
<iranLre  charm.  Repose  and  .ictivity,  the  hush  of  shadowy  woods,  and  the  hum  of  labor, 
sam  to  !iknd  in  delicious  harmony  ;  while  the  grav  walls  of  the  buildings  h:,ve  no  harsh 
contrast  with  the  magniticent  masses  of  verdure  in  which  they  are  placed. 

I'lir  miles  the  river  continues,  with  unbroken  beauties  of  forest,  un'H  a  lu-autiful 
iiimlci  is  reached,  which  rejoices  in  the  (pieer  name  of  "  Rising  Sun."  We  cross 
ilic  liver,  just  before  reaching  this  village,  by  an  ancient  bridg*',  {lnv<'  through  the 
hanilit  of  low  stone  c«)ttages,  and  presently  come  to  the  famous  |)u|K>nt  powder- 
vards  where  the  iK-auties  of  Nature  and  the  toils  and  dangers  of  industr)  slrangelv 
mioLh .  Long  avenues  of  greenest  willow-shade,  and  turf,  soft  as  velvet  and  spar-.ded 
Willi  ildwers,  give  to  this  enclosure  an  almost  p.irk-like  a|>pearan<  (  Here  grow  tin  uluest 
violets  of  the  s|)ring-time,  and,  from  the  opjiosite  woody  :.hore,  Autumn's  gav  banners 
(lro<i|.  glowing  to  the  water's  Ige.  Ferns,  rivalling  the  choicest  pets  of  the  conserva- 
"ir\,  ire  found  in  the  mossy  ravines,  and  the  scarlet  flame  of  the  cardinal-llower  lights 
!i|i   inun    ii    shadv    retn-at.      He     ,is    ,i    siiggcstivc    contrast    to    the    surrounding    beauty, 


(i|    p 
willov 
(.1  M 
.ill   . 

|(1U    ! 
Ill  111 


SCENES    OX    THE    BRANDVWIXE. 


239 


throupliout  the  lenp^th  of  this  Edoii  run  the  iron  lines  of  a  horse-railroad,  and  hcrf'  and 
there,  erDiichinjj  back  against  the  hill-sides,  like  grim  giants  bracing  themselves  for  a 
spriivf,  stand  structures  of  heaviest  masonry — the  powder-mills.  These  mills  are  erected 
elose  to  ihe  water's  edge,  and  ate  scattered  along  the  river-side  for  n  distance  of  three 
miles.  Thev  ari'  not  so  picturesque  as  the  cotton-  and  grist-mills,  but  they  obtrude  very 
little  upon  the  landscape;  while  the  tenors  of  an  explosion  which  they  threaten  add 
tlirilling  /est  to  the  interest  of  the  spectator.  Scarcely  a  \ear  passes  that  one  of  these 
mills  (lues  not  startle  the  silent    hills  with    the    thunders    of  an   explosion;    but    the  grim 


OUI  tiriilMill  <>l  llie  Kt'M.lutiw 


horror  thus  imported  by  man  into  the  scene  is  compensated  for,  so  far  as  the  attractions 
"f  the  spot  are  consitlered,  by  animating  |)ictures  of  the  willow-peelers  the  acid  from 
willow-hranches  entering  extensively  into  the  manufacture  of  gunpowder.  "The  nionlh 
"f  .May,"  writes  one  descril>ing  the  scene,  "is  the  harvest  of  the  willows.  Coming  from 
all  directions  toward  the  powder-works,  wagons  may  then  be  seen  piled  higli  with  wil- 
low-hi  jhes,  some  in  their  natural  green  state,  and  tufted  here  and  there  with  leaves; 
oftiers  peeled,  and  looking  at  a  little  distance  like  huge  masses  of  yellowish  ivory.  There 
i>!  scarcely  a  farmer  for  miles  around  but  has  a  group  of  willows  shi.ding  his  spring- 
Immim',  yr  a  line  of  their  green  boughs  fringinji  (he  brixtk  in  his  meadow-pasture.     Kver> 


230 


PICTURESQUE    AMERICA. 


three  or  four  years  the  faithful  trees  are  deprived  of  cheir  branches,  and  left  standiriir,  like 
dejected  Samsons,  shorn  of  their  locks.     But  it  is  not  for  lon^.     Before  the  wild-roses  of 

June  have  vanished  from  the  hcdfres, 
the  ugly  scars  of  the  hatchet  arc  iiid- 
dcn  by  a  growth  of  fresh  young  twigs, 
which,  when  another  summer  comes 
round,  will  be  well  on  their  way  tow- 
ard a  second  harvest.  Few  crojis  are 
more  remunerative— six  dollars  per  cord 
being  the  price  given  for  green  branches, 
or  eight  dollars  if  the  bark  is  removed. 
The  greater  part  of  the  peeling,  liow- 
ever,  is  done  in  the  immediate  vicinitv 
of  the  works.  Here  and  there  iilone; 
the  river-side,  scattered  about  in  the 
glad  May  sunshine,  are  seen  busy  groups 
— old  men  whose  white  locks  float  in 
the  gentle  breeze,  brisk  matrons,  and 
deft-handed  children.  It  makes  a  i)rcttv 
picture,  especialjy  when  the  little  (.lies, 
grown  tired  of  the  monotonous  task, 
rim  away  for  a  chase  after  bultcrllies 
or  to  gather  the  golclen  dandelions  in 
the  margin  of  the  stream. 

"Two  dollars  per  cord  is  the  price 
given  for  peeling.  When  the  branches 
are  large,  this  pays  excellently,  l>iit  a 
load  of  slender  boughs  is  a  sore  m  Na- 
tion. The  bark  is  also  the  proper!  \  nl 
tlie  pickr,  and,  throughout  the  sumiiur, 
this  aromatic  fuel  kee])s  the  pot  bdiliiit: 
in  many  a  cottage-home.  In  the  i\ ru- 
ing, when  the  bright  simshine  has  van- 
ished, and  the  songs  of  the  binh  m' 
stilleiL  when  the  glow  of  a  lantern  inniu 
upon  a  tree  above  each  band  of  wnrk- 
ers  reveals  their  whereabouts,  and  a  M^; 
ti,  the  festa'  ippearai.' c,  I  le  ft  re  ..irgely  increased,  ^'oung  men  from  the  powili- 
yards.  maidei...  from    tht    K.  t  (r-*-;,  and  servants   from  the  neighboring  farms,  gather  th  n 


Mn.inlighl  "n  tk.i  ||^40i.iy4 


SCENES    ON    THE    ERANDYW/NE. 


231 


then  for  pastime  and  company.  It  is  their  casino.  When  Kate  brushes  the  lint  of  her 
loom  from  her  dark  curls,  she  ties  a  bright  ribbon  around  them ;  and  Molly,  hurrying 
througli  her  dairy-work,  dons  a  fresh,  white  apron.  For  who  knows  whom  they  may 
meet  ai  .ung  the  willows  ? — 

"  '  Mony  lads'  and  lassies'  fates 
Are  there  o'  nights  decided.' 

"  It  is  now  that  popular  peelers  prosper.  An  old  man  with  a  large  fund  of  anec- 
dote, or  a  shrewd  woman  who  will  promise  the  young  folks  a  party  when  the  season  is 
over,  gains  much  help  from  these  merry  amateurs,  and  the  lagging  cords  of  glistening 
branches  are  soon  piled  high  by  their  dexterous  fingers.  Until  a  late  hour  their  laughter 
echoes  over  the  quiet  river,  and  the  lonely  night-hand,  going  to  'change  his  mill'  far 
down  tiie  yard,  is  cheered  by  the  gay  songs  borne  to  him  along  the  water." 

Above  the  powder-yard  stretcii  the  same  scenes  of  beauty.  At  Rockland  are  ex- 
tensive paper-mills,  which,  like  all  other  factories  on  tlie  Brandywine,  form  a  pleasing 
feature  in  the  landscape,  and  stand,  with  their  gray  tints,  in  harmonious  relief  against 
the  i);ickground  of  verdure. 

1  hete  is  danger  that  the  beauties  of  the  Brandywine,  near  Wilmington,  may  in  time 
l)L'  sacrificed  to  the  greed  of  "enterprising"  citizens,  unless  measures  are  taken  to  perma- 
mntly  secure  them,  by  the  conversion  of  the  shores  into  a  public  park.  The  people  of 
Wilmington  have  the  example  of  their  sister  city  of  Philadelphia,  and  the  banks  of  the 
lirandyvviii  ,  like  those  of  the  Wissaiiickon,  should,  by  timely  public  interposition,  be  set 
apart  as  things  of  beauty  and  loveliness  forever. 


CUMBERLAND     GAP, 


ll'l    !i|:i 


Willi    ILLUSTRATMNS    liV    IIAKKY    HiNN. 


mm 


pi 


\    (ilini|jst'    iif    Kcnliitky,    from    Cumberland   Cap- 

'HE  tourist  may  l)c  familiar  with  tlio  last- 
lusses  ul  .Alpine  scenery,  the  heijiliis  nl 
Mont  Ulanc,  the  cone  of  \'esuvius,  the  \rM 
summit  of  VV'ashinjfton,  or  the  giyantie  (lutlinc- 
of  the  Western  cafions,  and  \et,  memories  aiul 
associations  attached  to  all  of  these  localities 
will  he  recalled  by  a  visit  to  that  ri'^ion  <il 
America  in  which  the  Cumberland  Mountains  trend  oliliquely  across  the  States  of  Km- 
tucky  and  I'ennessee  ;  because,  somewhere  in  the  fi^ur  thousand  four  hundred  niilis  ot 
territory  occupied  l»y  tliese  " everlastinjj;  hills,"  they  present  to  the  eye  almost  iven 
variety  <jf  pictures<|uc  expression  that  elsewhere  has  excited  wonder  or  admiration. 

(treat  ridges — now  roofed  over  with  thickets  of  everjjrcen,  now  i)added  with  nm'-^ 
and  ferns,  or,  again,  crowned  with  huge  bowlders  that  seem  to  have  been  tumbled  .ilmut 
iti  wild  disorder  by  some  convulsive  spasm  of  the  monster  beneath— shoot  sudtitnlv 
upward,   fn)m    two   thousand    to    six    thousand  feet.  .»nd  become,  as  it  were,  landmaik-  i" 


i  Gap. 


ith  till'  last- 
lieiffhts  ol 
as,  the  liiild 
ntic  DUtliiKS 
iftnoiiis  ami 
.•sc  localities 
,t  ifyidi!  I'l 
It's  (il  l\«ii- 
.•(I  niili^  ol 
ilniosi  ivi'H 
ntion. 

I    with    niiis^ 
mbird  almiil 

ot       Stlllilllll^ 

undniaik"  i" 


wmmt 


VXn.'* 


.V 


^ 


*,ir,        ■■'^; 


■^i^'- 


^ 


CUMBERLAND    GAP. 


233 


the  skies,  that  are  visible  at  such  distances  as  to  appear  like  a  part  of  the  clouds.  Here 
and  there,  a  broad  table-land,  on  which  a  city  might  be  built,  terminates  abruptly  in 
sharp  escarpments  and  vertical  sheets  of  rock,  seamed  and  ragged,  like  the  front  of  a 
stupendous  fortress  that  has  been  raised  by  giant  hands  to  protect  tlie  men  of  the  moun- 
tains from  the  encroachments  of  the  lovvlanders.  There  are  other  rocks  full  of  grand 
phvsioiinomies ;  caves  that  rriight  be  the  hiding-places  of  the  witids ;  water-falls  where 
the  melody  of  the  rills  is  never  silent ;  glens  and  chasms ;  and  forests  so  dense  that  a 
man  might  live  and  die  in  their  recesses — 


,    "The  world  forgetting,  by  the  world  forgot.' 


And  so,  in  evfirv  conceivable  shape  that  can  appeal  to  the  eye  of  poet,  artist,  or  geolo- 
gist. Nature  has  here  piled  up  her  changeless  masonry  of  creation.  The  name  Cumber- 
land, let  us  here  say,  was  given  to  these  mountains  by  tlic  first  discoverers,  a  partv  of 
hunters  from  North  Carolina,  in  honor  of  the  Duke  of  Cumberland,  at  that  time  ( 1 748) 
prinu-ininistei'  of  England. 

The  "ridges"  referred  tf)  arc  among  the  curiosities  of  the  Cumberland  region.  Aside 
from  the  fact  that  they  observe  a  species  of  parallelism  to  each  other,  they  contain  nu- 
merous "  breaks,"  or  depressions,  which,  in  the  peculiar  configuration  of  the  countr)', 
appear  to  the  traveller  who  is  at  the  foot  of  the  mountain  to  be  distant  only  a  few 
liundred  rods ;  yet  he  must  frequently  ride  for  miles  through  a  labyrinth  of  l.ilis,  blind 
roads,  and  winding  paths,  before  he  can  reach  the  entrance  and  pursue  his  journey. 

The  chief  and  moyt  :>  lebrated  of  these  great  fissures,  or  hall-ways,  through  the 
range,  is  known  as  "Cumberland  Gap."  This  gap  is  situated  in  East  Tennessee,  near  the 
Kentucky  bc^rder,  about  one  hundred  and  fifty  miles  southeast  from  Lexington,  and  may 
be  regarded  as  the  only  practical  opening,  for  a  distance  of  eighty  miles,  that  deserves 
the  name  of  a  "gap."  There  are  other  places  which  are  so  called,  but  it  is  only  for 
tlie  reason  tliat  they  are  more  easy  of  access  than  because  of  any  actual  depression  in 
the  mountain.  At  a  place  called  "  Rogers's  Gap,"  for  examj)le,  which  is  eighteen  miles 
distant  from  Cumberland  Gap,  there  is  no  gap  whatever;  but  the  road,  taking  advantage 
of  a  series  of  ridges  on  the  northern  side,  and  running  diagonally  on  the  southern  side, 
is  rendered,  with  great  exertion,  passable  by  man  and  beast. 

Ihe  gap  depicted  by  our  artist  is  about  six  miles  in  length,  but  so  narrow  in 
many  places  that  there  is  scarcely  room  for  the  roadway.  It  is  five  hundred  feet  in 
de|)tii.  The  mountains  on  cither  side  rise  to  an  altitude  of  twelve  hundred  feet ;  and, 
when  their  precipitous  faces  have  been  scaled  by  the  tourist,  and  he  stands  upon  the 
summit,  the  view,  beneath  a  cloudless  sky,  is  one  of  the  most  beautiful  in  America. 
Southward,  there  stretch  away  the  lovely  valleys  of  Tennessee,  carpeted  in  summer  with 
everv  shade  of  green,  and  in  autumn  with  every  rainbow  tint — the  rolling  surface  resem- 


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(716)  •7a-4S04 


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CUMKIillL.ANlJ     UAl'.     I  MUM      I  Ml       LAkl. 


CUMliERLA ND    GA  P. 


235 


tiling  in  the  distance  a  vast  plain,  written  all  over  with  the  handiwork  of  human  enter- 
prise; uliile,  looking  to  the  north,  the  vision  is  lost  among  a  series  of  billowy -backed 
mountains,  rising  barrier-like  to  hide  the  luxuriant  fields  of  Kentucky.  "  Across  the 
countr\ ,"  is  here  a  significant  phrase ;  for  the  luckless  traveller  whose  route  lies  in  that 
(lirectiun  must  be  prepared  to  encounter— 

"  Wave  on  wave  succeeding." 


The  gap  delineated  in  the  accompanying  sketches  is  a  great  highway  between  South- 
western Virginia  and  her  sister  States  adjoining.  Hence,  during  the  late  war,  the  posi- 
tion was  early  deemed  important,  and  was  occupied  arid  strongly  fortified  by  the 
Confederate  Government.  Cannon  bri.stled  from  the  neighboring  heights,  and  a  com- 
|i;irativeiy  small  force  held  the  pass  for  many  months,  defending  in  that  secluded 
mountain-recess  the  railroad  connections  between  Richmond,  North  ^Vlabama,  Mississippi, 
Nashville,  and   Memphis,  on  the  integrity  of  which  so  much  depended. 

Tin,'  approach  to  the  range  from  tiie  northeast  side,  after  leaving  Abingdon,  \'ir- 
1,'inia,  is  over  a  rough,  broken  country ;  and  the  only  compensation  to  the  traveller,  as 
he  saunters  along  on  horseback,  is  in  the  enjoyment  of  bits  of  scenery  wherein  rocks 
and  running  streams,  mountain-ferries,  cjuaint  old-fashioned  mills,  farm-houses  and  cabins 
perched  like  birds  among  the  clefts  of  hills,  lovely  perspectives,  v.'ild-Howers  and  waving 
jrrain,  and  a  homely  but  hospitable  j)eople,  combine  in  charming  confusion  to  keep  the 
attention  ever  on  the  alert. 

The  road  through  the  gap,  winding  like  a  huge  ribbon,  to  take  advantage  of  ever)' 
foot  of  rugged  soil,  u|>,  down,  and  around  the  mountains,  is  but  the  enlarged  war-trail 
of  till'  ancient  Cherokees  and  other  tribes,  who  made  incursions  from  one  State  to  the 
other.  N'ou  are  following  the  path  pursued  by  Boone  and  the  early  settlers  of  the 
West.  Passing  through  the  scenes  of  bloody  ambuscades,  legends,  and  traditions,  it 
would  seein  almost  a  part  of  the  romance  of  the  place  if  now  an  Indian  should  sud- 
(lenl\  break  the  reigning  sil -nee  with  a  warwhooj),  and  its  dying  echoes  be  answered 
liy  the  rille-shot  of  a  pioneer.  !n  short,  it  is  an  old,  old  region,  covered  with  the  rime 
of  centuries,  and   but   slightly  changed  by  the  progress  of  events. 

'  )f  residents  in  the  gaj),  there  are  but  few.  One  of  these  has  been  enterprising 
nuuigh  to  establish,  near  an  old  bridge,  which  is  shown  in  the  picture,  a  grocery-store, 
and  (liitains  his  livelihood  by  trading  in  a  sinall  way  with  the  teamsters  of  the  passing 
trains,  «nd  exchanging  whiskey,  clothing,  etc.,  for  the  produce  ol  h's  neighbors.  Similar 
tsialilishments  will  be  found  at  intervals  of  five,  ten,  or  fifteen  miles;  sometimes  they 
are  half  hidden  from  view  in  the  coves,  or  "pockets,"  of  the  mountains.  Mut  they  ab- 
sorli  much  of  the  small  "truck"  that  finds  its  wav  to  marktt  from  this  section.  The 
cunin'odirics   thus   purchased   and    shipped    in    the    muuiUuin-wagons  through   the  gap,  ch 


I^lplfll 


tUMHriUANIi     (.AlV      I'lloM      K.A<iL,K     iLIKh 


CUMBERLAND    GAP. 


2i7 


route  t(i  Baltimore  and  elsewhere,  consist  of  dried  apples,  peaches,  chestnuts,  liutter,  lard, 
llaxsced,  l)acon,  etc.  Horse  and  mule  trading  is  likewise  carried  on  to  a  considerable 
extent ;  and  sharp-witted,  indeed,  must  be  that  man  who  can  buy  or  sell  more  shrewdly 
than  tlusc  self-same  mountaineers,  whose  lives  have  been  hammered  out  on  the  anvil  in 
Nature's  own  workshop. 

As  a  class,  they  are  a  large-bodied,  large-hearted,  large-h.inded  people,  rude  in  speech, 
brave  in  act,  and  honest  in  their  friendships.  They  may  know  nothing  of  the  conven- 
tionalities of  society,  but  they  will  exhibit  the  "  small,  sweet  courtesies  of  life " — as  they 
undcrsi;ind  them — with  a  readiness  of  generosity  that  makes  one  "  feel  at  home."  They 
may  have  but  a  single  room  in  their  cabin,  yet  you  will  be  invited  to  enjoy  the  night's 
hospitality  like  one  of  the  lamily,  and  may  go  to  bed  with  "he,  she,  and  it,"  on  the 
familv  floor,  with  the  manifestaticjn  of  no  more  curiosity  oi  concern,  on  the  part  of  the 
individual  members  thereof,  than  if  they  had  been  born  without  eyes.  And  in  the  morn- 
ing, after  a  "  pull "  at  the  "  peach-and-honey  "  and  a  breakfast  of  hog  and  hominy,  a  long 
stride  hv  your  horse's  side  for  three  or  four  miles  will  tell  you  that  the  mountaineer 
knows  how  to  "  speed  the  parting  guest,"  in  his  simple  fashion,  with  a  grace  and  hospi- 
tality tliat  come  jitraight  from  the  heart. 

The  road  through  a  portion  of  tiie  gap,  and  one  of  the  caravans  which  arc  fre- 
(liicnllv  passing,  may  be  seen  in  one  of  the  accomjianying  pictures;  while-  in  another 
sketch  is  a  view  of  a  |)rimitive  old  mill,  now  almost  in  ruins,  where  grain  is  ground  for 
llie  neighbors;  but  it  is  situated  in  a  spot  so  picturesque  that,  if  money  could  buv  the 
bcautv  of  Nature,  long  ago  it  would  have  been  transplanted  to  become  the  site  of  a 
niral  palace. 

Whatever  rnav  be  the  peculia.ities  of  the  region,  social  or  otherwise,  the  time 
cannot  be  far  distant  when  the  whole  of  this  wild  tract  must  yield  to  the  march 
of  improvement,  and  [)our  forth  the  treasures  of  mineralogical  wealth  now  latent  in  its 
soil.  .Already,  a  railroad  is  in  process  of  construction,  that  is  destined  to  cut  the  back- 
iionc  of  Kentucky  and  Tennessee  in  twain,  and  o|)en  a  new  avenue  of  communication 
lutuicn  the  East  and  West;  while  geologists  and  engineers  are  "prospecting"  among 
I  he  mines. 

Iron  exists  in  abinidance — a  common  variety  being  the  red  iron-ore,  which  soils  the 
fnigrrs,  and  is  generally  composed  of  small  round  and  Hat  bodies,  for  which  reason  it  is 
called  "lenticular  ore."  Not  unfrequently,  fossils,  shells,  and  a  species  of  coral,  are  found 
in  the  mass,  showing  that  at  some  period  in  the  misty  past  the  sea  or  its  tributaries 
liav(  swept  through  the  heart  of  the  continent.  -At  some  points  in  Cimiberland  (lajt 
the  iron  is  hard  enough  to  be  (juarried  out  in  blocks,  and  this  vein  of  metal  has  been 
irao'd  one  hundred  and  fiflv  miles.  It  is  from  twenty-four  to  thirty  inches  thick,  and  is 
I'l  I  xallent  (pialitv.  Coal  is  likewise  found  in  this  regicm.  and,  as  far  back  as  1854, 
inanv  thousands  of  bushels  were  transported  through  the  gap. 


1itl*fi> 


'fym' 


VVATKINS    GLHN. 

Willi   II.I.L'STRATIONS  IIV  MARRY  FKNN. 

HE  town  of   VVatkiiis   nestlis 
in    a    narrow    valley,  amid    i 
profusion  of  shruhlK-ry,  at  the  Ih\u1 
of   Seneca    Lake,    New    York,   ami 
within  the  shadow  of  Buck  Moun- 
tain.     PassiiifT   up   the  main  stred. 
paralk'l  with  the  mountain-sk)pe,  a  w;i 
of  a  quarter  of  a  mile  brinjjs  one  to  a 


IVA  TKINS    liLEN. 


239 


bridge  which  spans  a  shallow  stream.  This  stream  has  cut  its  way  through  the  lower 
slope  of  the  mountain-range,  and  formed  for  itself  a  short  pass,  or  cul-dc-sac,  which  tei- 
minates  abruptly,  at  a  distance  of  a  few  hundred  yards,  in  a  lofty  wall,  that  stretches 
across  tlic  pass  and  bars  all  further  progress. 

The  wall  is  not,  however,  continuous  on  the  same  line,  but  falls  back  in  the  centre, 
and  forms  a  cavernous  recess,  from  one  angle  of  which  the  stream  issues.  Behind  this 
solemn  gate-way  of  natural  masonry,  broken  and  abraded  in  places  by  time  and  the 
action  of  the  elements,  lie  the  gloomy  ravines,  and  the  infinite  variety  of  water-falls,  and 
foaming  rapids,  and  deep  and  silent  pools,  which  have  become  famous,  within  recent 
vears,  under  the  designation  of  Watkins  Glen. 

The  mode  of  ingress  for  visitors  to  the  glen  is  by  rude  stairways,  running  diago- 
nally along  the  face  of  the  wall,  braced  strongly  to  it,  and  propped,  also,  firmly  from 
beneatli.  Landing-places  are  provided  at  intervals,  from  which  other  stairways  spring ; 
and  thus  the  ascent  is  made  until  the  angle  of  the  northern  portal  is  turned  and  a 
footway  gained,  when  the  first  difficulty — the  entrance  to  the  gorge — is  surmounted. 

We  are  now  in  Glen  Alpha,  as  it  has  been  somewhat  fantastically  styled.  Inside 
the  great  rock  barrier,  which  we  have  just  succeeded  in  passing,  a  narrow  but  secure 
bridjfe  crosses  the  chasm  ;  and  from  this  bridge  a  fine  view  is  had  of  the  first  cascade, 
as  it  pours  swirling  through  a  rift  in  the  rocks,  and  falls,  roaring  and  foaming,  into  a 
deep  basin,  scooped  out  of  the  solid  rock-bed  by  the  constant  fret  and  chafe  and  tur- 
moil of  the  waters.  Quitting  the  bridge,  and  clambering  up  a  series  of  steps,  we  gain 
presently  a  narrow  foot-jiath,  cut  out  of  the  face  of  the  cliff,  and  follow  its  fantastic 
windings  until  all  further  progress  is  barred  by  a  transverse  wall,  over  which  the  waters 
of  the  long  cascade  fall  from  a  great  height  into  the  dark  pool  below.  At  this  point 
the  rugged  and  lofty  walls  of  the  gorge  draw  closer  together.  Where  the  foot-path 
ends,  a  long  staircase,  wet  with  the  mist  and  spray  of  the  cascade,  is  Hung,  at  an  angle 
of  ninety  degrees,  across  the  tremendous  chasm,  and  at  its  upjier  end  connects  with 
another  foot-path,  some  fifty  feet  at)ove  the  one  which  has  just  been  abandoned.  After 
traversing  this  new  path  a  little  space,  we  come  upon  a  series  of  cascades,  dropping 
from  one   low   ledge  to  another,  with   deep   pools   and   broad   shallows  intervening. 

Pursuing  our  onward  and  upward  course,  the  aspect  of  the  jjlacc  grows  weird  and 
ghastly.  The  world,  and  the  things  of  the  world,  are  utterlv  shut  out,  and  we  seem  to 
lie  '^Iruggling  among  the  ruins  of  some  older  creation.  The  rocks  take  on  more  gro- 
tes(|iu'  forms.  The  air  is  cold  and  moist.  The  path — a  mere  ledge  in  the  face  of  the 
clilf  -overhangs  a  deep  chasm,  at  the  bottom  of  which  the  waters  chafe  and  struggle  and 
l>rawl.  Overhead,  the  gray  walls  rise,  tier  upcjn  tier,  inclining  gradually  toward  each 
"illur,  until  finally,  far  upward,  only  a  narrow  slip  of  sky  can  be  seen,  with  the  light 
stniLTgling  dimly  through  a  fringe  of   hemlocks. 

Beyond    this    gloomy    pass,    with    its    strange,    unearthly    aspect,    the    ledge    we    are 


.t  i 


240 


PIC  TUR  ESQ  UE   A  ME  RICA. 


II 


Entrancf  in  ilic  (lltn 


traversing    ends    abruinh,  ;,„,! 
the  obstacles   to    a    fart  I  hi  ad. 
Vance  have  to  be  overcame  l,v 
a  succession   of  stainva\s,  now 
crossing  to  one  side,  now  dian. 
ging  to  the  otiier,  until,  Ity  a,, 
ever  -  ascending   grade,   iiiiothcr 
pathway  is  reached.      Here  tlii 
roci<  walls  recede,  and  sufficient 
soil  has  accumulated  ovci  tluni 
to    admit    of    the    growth   of 
shrubs     and     large     evcr<rrrai- 
trees.     The  path,  too,  is  easier. 
I'^ollowing    it    for   a   short   dis- 
tance, we    come    to    a   st;iir\vav 
|)laced    against    the    baiii<,  and, 
on    ascending    it,  reach  a  sliell 
of  the    mountain  on  the  iKirtli 
side    of    the    ravine.      On   thi< 
shelf  is   perched  the  Mountain 
House,    built    somewhat    after 
the  style  of  a  Swiss  clinld,  hut 
comfortably  furnished,  ami  well 
suf.plied     with     essentials    and 
non-essentials,  and  atfordinir  an 
excellent  resting-place  for  those 
who  have  become  fatigued  with 
their    rough    hut   exciting    jniir- 
ney,  thus  far,  through  the  iiiir- 
vellous  gorge. 

Leaving  the  Mmmiain 
House,  the  path  dips  siculih 
downward,  almost  to  the  iud 
of  the  stream  ;  and,  after  pass- 
ing another  series  of  small  cas- 
cades and  rapids,  we  cio'-s  a 
bridge  to  the  opposite  sidi  nf 
the  gorge,  where  the  clilfs,  rent 
and  torn  into  every  concri\  ihle 


W ATKINS    GLRN. 


241 


shape,  lir'^t  contract, 
and  then  expand  in- 
to an  cniirmous  am- 
phitheatii',  to  which 
has  Ihcii  li'ivcn  the 
name  ol  ("'Icn  Ca- 
ihalial.  TIk'  area  is 
vast.  The  immense 
walls,  iicirly  eircniar 
in  form,  rise  to  a 
irreat  lieijiht,  and, 
where  they  termi- 
nate skvward,  arc 
ciounid  with  the 
frcsii,  srreen,  ]KMi(ki 
liiiis  Inliasje  of  the 
hnnloek.  The  door 
of  lliis  iimpiiitheatre 
is  almost  as  level  as 
if  it  had  been  paved 
In-  human  hands ; 
and  liver  the  f^reat 
slahs  of  rock,  laid 
Rwuhirh-  and  close- 
joinli'd,  tile  stream 
spreads  out,  hut  an 
inch  or  two  in 
depth,  (lowing  casi- 
Iv  and  quietly,  with 
scareelv  a  ri|)ple  to 
lireak  the  smooth- 
ness of  its  surface. 

I'assi'ig  through 
a  hn.ik  in  the  great 
circular  wall,  hv  a 
padi  still  hroad,  hut 
luiMv  hroken  and 
uaiii-worn,  the  tall 
dills   recede    upward 


lll.n    Alph.i. 


from  their  hase  ;  and 
on  the  slopes  thus 
lornied,  and  sliehiiiL;' 
outward,  some  lu'ni- 
locks  and  deciduous 
tr(;es  find  sustenanei-. 
Suddenlv,  the  tall 
el  ills,  as  if  spurning 
these  pictures(|iu'  ae- 
eessi)rii's,  close  in 
again,  and  in  the 
cavernous  gloom  of 
tin-  remote  distance 
anothi'r  cascade  is 
seen  llowing  in  a 
white  sheet  over  its 
rock\'  ledge,  and 
pouring  its  w.Uers 
into  tlu'  gorge. 

( )n  neaiing  this 
line  casca<le,  anoth- 
er -tairwa\',  thrown 
across  the  gorge  to 
a  higher  shelf  pro- 
jecting from  the 
face  of  the  elilV, 
gives  access  to  a 
remaikahle  scene. 
Uefore  us  is  what  is 
called  the  ("den  <d' 
Pools,  from  llie  va- 
rictv  and  extent  of 
its  water-worn  ba- 
sins. Standing  on 
the  nridge,  and  look- 
ing up  the  goige, 
the  eye  fal's  upon 
a  series  of  cascades 
and    rapids,  low   anil 


H 


242 


P/C ' rURESQUE    AMERICA. 


Ciucin   C'a>ca(ic,  l»clow    MouiUain    llouiie. 


broad,  liut  vctv  beautiful.  The  cnclosinjr  walls  arc  aijaiii  suiricioiitly  broken  to  allow  (if 
the  growth  of  trees  ir,  some  places,  and  to  let  the  lisrlit  in  freely.  Beyond  these,  Hirain. 
cascades  of  greater  breadth  drop  from  one  rocUy  ledge  to  another,  foaming  and  seetliiiifr; 


iy/1  TK/NS    GLEN. 


243 


Kainbcnv    I'alls. 


while  over  tlic  southern  wall,  ami  the  i)ath\vay  that  clink's  to  it,  a  thin  stream,  falling 
from  a  jrroal  heij^ht,  spreads  itself"  out  like  a  veil  of  silver  mist,  antl  miii,a;les  its  waters 
with  those  in  the  rock-bound  channel  far  i)elow.     At  certain  seasons  of  the  year  the  sun 


344 


PIC  rURESOUIi   AMHRJC.  I. 


Clifls,  (ik'n   (  alhcdr:.;. 


is  at  an  angli-  wliich  ^cnds 
ghinciiiff  lifrlits  tliroutrh  tht 
Korjrc,  which  l)rcak  in  piisniat- 
ic  colors  on  this  thin  fringe  ol 
a  water-fall,  and  hence  <;ivc  ii 
the  name  of  Rainbow  l"a|l< 
iiui  the  nomenclature  df  tin 
jrlen  is  hopelessly  free  and  con- 
fusing, each  season  giviiifj  a 
new  series  of  designati(/ns  to 
its  various  falls  and  aspects 
"  Glen  Cathedral "  is  a  tcini 
that  seems  to  have  ailhcrcd 
with  some  tenacity,  hut  the 
other  water  -  falls  and  imols 
have  almost  as  man\'  tcim- 
as  there  are  different  tastes 
and  fancies  amonjr  the  visit- 
ors; and  names,  at  best,  a|i|ih 
to  one  feature  only  of  the 
scene  they  describe,  whcicas 
in  each  j)icture  there  are  usu- 
ally a  hundred  phases  tiiat 
rival  each  other  in  beauty  ;iml 
interest.  In  this  straiifj^e  rifl 
in  the  rcjcks  the  eye  siiifts 
from  beauty  to  beauty,  fnmi 
marvel  to  marvel,  with  rest- 
less delifjht.  The  tunihiiiii; 
water -falls;  the  dark,  ^ilcnt 
pools ;  the  light  above  relirct- 
ing  from  cliff  to  clilT,  ami 
glancing  with  rich  beauty  on 
rock  and  cascade;  the  finiias- 
tic  growths  of  trees  at  ( \(iy 
"point  of  Vantage,"  and  the 
interlacing  branches  abdve; 
the  picturesque  bridges  ;iihI 
stairways  ;     the    profound    ^i- 


VV ATKINS    (.l.liN. 


245 


leiicc,  liroken  only  by  the 
sound  III  waters  —  all  these 
conditifiiis  make  uj)  a  fasci- 
luitinjf  cliarni  that  each  suc- 
ceeding picture  varies  in  de- 
tail, hill  which  ])ert;iin  with 
iilinost  i'(|ual  force  to  every 
part  I 'I  the  entire  ^len. 
AniDim  the  straiifrc  beauties 
of  the  |)lace  are  the  dark 
[Kiols  tliat  lie  at  the  foot  of 
the  cascades.  The  v/ater  in 
this  slranjrc  fiforji^e  is  of  a 
brilliant  jfreen,  and  beautifully 
trans|)arcnt.  In  shallow  places 
it  is  ot  an  almost  perfect  eni- 
crald  hue,  and  in  deep  pools 
becoiiK'S  the  darkest  sea- 
iffccn.  There  is  one  pool 
which  110  one  has  ever  been 
able  t(i  fathom.  A  pole  thir- 
t\-  feet  long,  thrust  into  it, 
totallv  disappeared,  never  re- 
turninii  to  the  surface.  It  is 
assumed  that  a  channel  ex- 
ists tar  down  under  the 
rock,  the  subterranean  cur- 
rent thus  created  sweepinj> 
objects  let  down  in  the  pool 
out  of  reach  or  of  power  to 
return. 

The  very  picturesque 
Mtmntain  House,  built  di- 
rectlv  on  the  side  "of  the 
rift,  alTords  one  of  the  few 
instances  where,  in  this  coun- 
try, man  has  worked  in  har- 
iiHiii)  with  Nature.  This 
(halct   is,  in   its  own  way,  al- 


Curtnin   Cast'ade,    Havana   (jlen. 


246 


PICTURESQUE    AMERfCA. 


most  as  attractive  as  the  glen  itself.  Its  balconies  overhang  the  gorge,  with  trees  jut- 
ting  up  through  them  from  ledges  in  the  rocks  below ;  and  tr.e  visitor  looks  down 
from  his  advantageous  position  into  liepths  of  the  glen  that  remain  inaccessible.  Larju- 
hotels  arc  now  promised,  in  view  of  the  yearly  increase  of  visitors;  but  it  is  to  be  hoped 
the  chalet  will  never  be  disturbed. 


<  jma  1 1    2 


IM I 


Hridal  Veil,    Havana  (ilrn. 


It  is  remarkable  that  this  freak  of  Nature  has  only  recently  In-eome  known.  Nftif 
of  the  old  New-N'ork  gazetteers  make  mention  of  it.  The  entrance  to  the  glen  w,i^ 
long  familiar  to  the  people  of  tlie  neighborhood;  but,  until  bridges  and  staii"  i\^ 
were  made,  it  was  impossible  to  explore  it  and  hence  nothing  further  was  known  fl  ii 
beyond  that  which  was  revealed  by  a  hasty  j-,  mce  into  its  dark  mysteries.     The  e.xlnMu 


W ATKINS    GLEN. 


247 


Icrfifth  of  the  glen  is  about  three  miles,  and  the  cliiTs,  at  the  deepest  part  of  the  gorge, 
have  an  altitude  of  probably  three  hundied  feet. 

Three  miles  south  of  Watkins  is  Havana  Glen.  It  is  very  picturesque,  more  airy, 
and  is  quite  easy  of  access,  but  is  wanting  in  those  elements  of  gloom,  and  vastness,  and 
solemn  grandeur,  wl)ich  are  tiie  peculiar  characteristics  of  Watkins  GlCn.  Nevertheless, 
there  is  a  class  of  tourists  who  admire  Havana  Glen  even  nK  .c  than  its  great  rival. 
The  cascades  of  which  illustrations  are  furnished  are  I  ut  two  of  many  which  the 
tourist  will  meet  with,  in  rapid  succession,  as  he  asce.Js  it.  The  same  system  of 
stairways  and  ladders  prevails  as  at  Watkins ;  but  these  aids  to  progress  are  fewer 
in  tlie  former,  and  the  paths  broader.  Tiie  glen,  moreover,  is  short,  as  compared 
with  Watkins,  while  the  heigiit,  from  the  level  of  the  valley  to  the  table-land  above,  is 
much  kss.  In  the  early  summer  montlis  the  voluine  of  water  is  greater  than  that  av 
Watkins;  but  it  is  said  to  shrink  almost  to  a  thread  during  tlie  heats  of  July  and 
Aiifiust,  while  that  of  Watkins,  being  fed  from  bold  springs  far  up  the  mountain,  is 
mucli  more  pcrmurient,  thougii  subject  to  the  inliuenee  of  the  seasons. 


Uuthlc  Arch.   Wnlkin«   laen. 


ii! 


9H4  ■&' 


\i'm$ 


SCENES    IN 
EASTERN    LONG    ISLAND, 

WITH    ILLUSTRATIONS   liV    HAKRV    FENN. 

'  I  "MM  eastern  end  of  Lonjj  Island  is  penp- 
^  tratcd  l)y  a  wide  bay,  extending?  inland  a 
distance  of  tiiirty  miles.  A  large  isli'.'ui  divides 
the  hay  into  two  distinct  parts,  the  outer  division 
beinii:  i^nown  as  (lardiner's  Hay,  and  the  iniur, 
which  is  subdivided  i)y  promontories,  as  ("mat 
IVeonic  and  Little  Peconic  Bays.  This  large 
estuarv  gives  to  Long  Island  the  shape  of  a 
two-j)ronged  fork.  The  prongs  are  of  uiuqual 
length,  that  upon  the  southern  side  e.\tcaiiiif; 
the  northern  l)ranch  full  twenty  miles.  Tlie 
southern  branch  is  distinguished  as  Montaiik 
I'oint ;  the  northern,  until  recently,  as  Ovster- 
I'oiid  Point,  but  now  is  someiimes  called  Oiiem 
Pi  nt,  (leriving  this  nani<'  from  the  village  of 
Orient,  situated  within  its  limits.  Although  Ori- 
ent  Point  is  shorter  than  Montpuk  Point,  mi  a 
succession  of  islands  carries  the  line  of  thi^  fork 
a  long  disiance  northeasterly  into  the  sound- 
all  of  the  islands,  it  is  generally  believed,  once 
forming  a  portion  of  the  northern  peninsula. 
The  most  noted  of  them  is  IMumb  Islanil  ilii'^ 
name  is  popularly  spelled  Plum,  and  in  Tlinnip- 
son's  "History  of  Long  Island"  we  find  it  indi-- 
criminately  given  both  Plumb  and  I'luiu  n|iiiii 
which  is  a  light-house,  well  known  to  mariners. 
The  channel  betveen  this  island  and  (he  I''  iiit 
known  as  Plumb  (lUt,  has  been  rendered  la- 
nuKis  bv  the  well-known  exploit  of  Mr.  l'>'ii 
nett's  yacht.  It  is  a  common  tradition  ai  iln 
Ponil    that,  in    the    last    century,  the    passiigi    if 


EASTERN    LONii    ISLAND. 


249 


the  island    could    easily  be 
crossed,    .it     low    tide,    on 

foot. 

(Gardiner's  Bay  is  part- 
ly sheltered  from  the  sea 
bv  a  long,  narrow,  and  low 
stretch  of  land,  extending, 
on  a  lino  southerly  with 
Plumb  Island,  across  the 
open  space  that  lies  be- 
tween the  two  points. 
Westerly,  the  bay  is  sepa- 
rated from  the  inner  di- 
vision of  this  inland  sea 
bv  what  is  aii|)ropriately 
known  as  Shelter  Island, 
which  extends  from  op- 
posite Greenport  on  the 
norih  I)ranch  to  near  Sag 
Harl)i)r  on  the  south 
l>ranch.  This  island  is  high 
hk!  beautifully  wooded, 
and  possesses  so  many  at- 
tractions as  a  !-ummer  re- 
sort that  large  hotels  are 
now  erecting  upon  it.  It 
has  ,dso  been  selected  by 
the  Methodists  as  a  ground 
for  liieir  annual  camp- 
meetings.  A  more  beauti- 
fid  place  could  scarcely  be 
found  for  the  purpose . 
Unlike  all  this  portion  of 
I  oiiy  Island,  it  is  crowned 
hv  noltle  hills,  from  the 
siinnnits  of  w'hich  superb 
views  can  l)e  obtained  of 
till'  entiri  width  of  Long 
Island,  the  sound,  and  long 


E 
\ 


250 


PIC  TURi:SQ UE  AMERICA. 


strctclics  of  the  open  sea.  -I-'roin  White  Hill,  opposite  (ireenport,  Orient  I'oint  b 
visible  its  entire  lenj^th,  charmingly  dotted  with  villages,  while  beyond  lies  the  sound, 
always  white  with  many  sails.  l<"rom  Prospect  Hill,  close  at  hand.  Sag  Harbor,  iiiid,  far 
otl",  the  open  ocean,  can  l)e  discerned.  The  Indian  name  of  this  island  is  Manhansack- 
aha-qusha-wamock,  which  we  hope  the  reader  will  hnd  no  difficulty  in  pronouncing  or 
remembering.  The  translation  is  rendered  as  "an  island  sheltered  by  islands,"  which  is 
as  poetical  and  pleasing  as  it  is  geographically  accurate. 

Eastern  Long  Island  is  famous  for  its  fisheries.  Its  vast  bays  and  adjacent  seas 
abound  with  blue-fish,  mackerel,  and  a  small  fish,  valuable  only  for  the  oil  extracted 
from  it,  called  moss-lmnker.  This  fisii  has  built  up  in  all  this  region  an  extensive 
and  profitable  industry.  Numerous  oil-factories  recently  lined  the  shores  ot  the  ninin  isl- 
and, and  greatly  marred  the  beauty  of  Siiclter  Island;  but  the  iiorrible  odor  perenniallv 
escaping  from  them  at  last  aroused  a  ])opular  crusade,  wiiich  resulted  in  their  being 
legally  declared  puljlic  nuisances,  and  their  removal  ordered.  Hut  the  industry  was  too 
profitable  to  readily  surrender;  hence  it  devised  large  floating  oil-mills,  and  now,  here 
and  there  over  the  surface  of  Gardiner's  Bay,  may  be  seen  huge,  black,  uncouth,  and  yet 
picturesque-looking  objects,  always  surrounded  by  waiting  vessels,  and  ever  vomiting  into 
the  blue  air  volumes  of  black  smoke.  But  they  scarcely  mar  the  picture,  and  tlie  odor 
of  decayed  bunkers  never  reaches  tiie  shore.  Tlie  moss-bunker,  menhaden,  or  bony-tish, 
is  a  little  creature  of  something  near  a  pound  onlv  in  weight — to  the  great  whale  what 
a  lly  is  to  an  ox.  But  it  is  caught  in  proiligious  numbers,  as  many  as  one  million 
having  been  taken  at  a  single  haul  of  a  draw-seitie  from  shore,  enough  to  yield  fifteen 
luuulred  gallons  of  oil.  The  fisheries  in  this  section,  whether  considered  as  an  industiy 
or  as  a  means  of  sport,  give  it  its  peculiar  interest.  The  huge  reels  for  winding  the 
immense  nets,  seen  all  along  the  shores,  are  striking  ami  picturesijue  incidents  in  the 
landscape. 

Greenpoit,  on  the  northern  branch,  is  the  terminus  of  the  Long  Island  Railroad. 
It  is  comparatively  a  new  settlement,  dating  only  from  182;;  while  East  Ilamptdii  and 
Southampton,  on  the  southerly  fork,  are  nearly  two  centuries  older.  There  were  settlers 
on  Oyster  I'oint,  however,  as  far  back  as  1640,  one  Mr,  Ilallork  having,  in  thai  vtar, 
purchased  the  district  from  the  Indians.  But  no  towns  were  built  up  until  long  alter. 
riie  settlers  on  the  southern  fork,  notwithstanding  they  came  from  the  neighliorin); 
shores  of  New  Englaiul,  passed  Orient  I'oint,  inviting  as  it  must  have  been  with  its 
rich  soil  and  varied  greenery,  to  the  pine-barrens  and  grassy  downs  of  Montauk.  drccn- 
port  is  a  very  pretty  town  —  as  green,  neat,  and  (luiet,  as  the  idial  New-Enuland 
village.  The  cottages  that  line  the  well-shaded  streets  are  hid  among  trees,  ami  no- 
where is  decay  or  unwholesome  poverty  apparent.  The  drive  from  (Ireenport  In  the 
extreme  of  Orient  I'oint  is  very  charining.  Near  the  town  are  many  handsome  \inis 
and  cottages,  while  nourishing  farms  and  neat   farm-houses  enliven  the    road   duriii):  iIh- 


i 

iJnMwq 

i 

EASTERN     L-UNU     IbLANLl     SCENEb 


252 


PIC TURESOUE    AMERICA, 


entire  journey.  The  villatje  of  Orient,  throiifjh  whieii  we  pass,  has  a  prosperous  and 
pleasing  aspect ;  and  all  along  the  drive  the  scene  is  varied  by  frequent  glimpses  of  the 
sound  on  one  side  and  the  bay  on  the  other.  At  Orient  Point  there  is  a  summer  hotel, 
where  in  July  and  August  great  numbers  come  to  enjoy  the  sea-air  and  the  lishjng, 
There  is  animation  always  in  the  ])icturc  presented  here.  On  the  sound,  steamers  and 
coasting-vessels  come  and  go  incessantl)' ;  while,  in  the  bay,  fleets  of  fishing-bouts  ever 
hover  on  the  horizon,  and  yachts  and  smaller  pleasure-boats  give  life  and  animation  to 
the  nearer  scene. 

Returning  to  Greenport,  the  traveller  who  explores  this  region  will  next  desire  to 
reach  Sag  Harbor.  A  steamer  froin  New  York  touches  at  Orient  and  Greenport,  and 
makes  Sag  Harbor  the  terminus  of  its  route;  but  a  pleasanter  way  to  make  the  journey 
from  Greenport  is  by  sail-boat.  The  course  lies  around  Shelter  Island,  and,  if  winds  are 
fair,  the  voyage  can  be  accomplished  in  two  hours.  Sag  Harbor  was  settled  in  1730, 
nearly  one  hundred  years  before  Greenport.  It  is  an  ancient  whaling-phv  e.  When 
Long  Island  was  first  settled,  whales  were  common  visitors  to  its  shores,  and  boats 
were  always  ready  for  the  pursuit  of  those  welcome  strangers.  The  whales,  when 
caught,  were  drawn  upon  the  shore,  cut  in  pieces,  and  sent  to  primitive  boiling-estab- 
lishments ne.ir  at  hand.  When  the  land  of  this  region  was  purchased  of  the  In- 
dians, the  sachems  were  allowed,  by  the  terins  of  purchase,  to  fish  in  all  the  creeks 
and  ponds,  hunt  in  the  woods,  and  to  have  the  "  fynnes  and  tayles"  of  all  whales  cast 
upon  the  coast.  From  the  pursuit  of  whales  on  the  coast  there  naturally  arose  expe- 
ditions of  a  more  ambitious  character,  and  in  the  early  part  of  the  present  eenturv  we 
hnd  the  peo|)le  of  this  town  largely  interested  in  the  Pacific  and  Indian  Ocean  whak- 
fishing.  IJut  eventually  Nantucket  and  New  Ik-dford  obtained  the  monopoly  of  this 
business,  and,  long  before  whaling  began  to  decline  in  these  towns,  it  had  known  its  best 
days  for  the  people  of  Sag  Harbor.  The  fisheries  of  the  bay  are  now  the  principal 
dependence  of  its  citizens,  although  a  cotton-mill  indicates  the  development  of  other  in- 
dustries. Sag  Harbor  is  old,  quaint,  and  fish-like;  it  must  remain  a  matter  of  tasti 
whether  the  traveller  should  prefer  its  semi-deeaved  antiquity  to  the  orderly  and  trimmed 
newness  of  Greenport. 

But  Sag  Harb(ir  has  a  measure  of  newness  by  the  side  of  East  Hampton,  on  thi 
southern  branch,  and  the  most  easterly  town  of  Long  Island.  This  township  was  settled 
in  1649,  by  thirty  families  from  Lynn  and  adjacent  towns  of  Massachusetts.  The  land 
was  purchased  of  the  famous  Montauk  tribe,  remnants  of  which  are  still  found  ;ibout 
Montauk  Point.  This  part  of  our  country  docs  not  seem  to  have  the  bloody  Indian 
record  that  distinguishes  so  many  sections.  The  early  settlers,  for  the  most  part,  lived 
harmoniously  with  the  original  occupants  of  the  soil.  Instead  of  making  the  red-man 
their  determined  enemy,  measures  seem  to  have  iteen  taken  to  secure  his  kindly  cooinra- 
tion  ;   and  the  remains  of  the  ancient   tribe  now  u|)on  the  island,  fishing  in  the  same  ^ca^ 


EAST     HAMK10N.     KHOM     THE    CHURCH      BELFHY. 


^54 


PIC  TURRSOUF.    AMERICA. 


and  l)UiUin<r  upon  tlic  same  sjround  tlicir   fatlicrs  did,  l)car  witness    to    the    humanitv  and 
forethoufrjit  of  the  (irst  settlers  of  this  icp;ion. 

East  Hampton  consists  simply  of  one  wide  street,  nearly  three  hundred  feet  uiilc, 
There  are  no  hotels,  no  shops,  no  manufactories.  The  residences  are  principally  farmers' 
houses,  confjregated  in  a  villajrc  after  the  I'rench  method,  with  their  farms  stretchiiiir  to 
the  ocean-shore  on  one  side,  and  to  the  pine-plains  that  lie  between  the  town  ami  tlu' 
bay  on  the  other.  Its  wide  street  is  lined  with  old  trees,  and  a  narrow  roadway 
wanders  throufjh  a  sea  of  jjreen   j^rass  on  either  side.       I'erha|)s  no  town  in  America   re- 


S^;^ 
-'  ^4f 


llomi'  of  jdlui   Howard   ravnc. 


>■    •^.. 


tains  so  nearly  the  jjrimitivc  habits,  tastes,  and  ideas  of  our  forefathers  as  East  Ilatnpton. 
It  is  rapidly  becominji  a  favorite  place  of  summer  resort,  visitors  at  ])resent  findinjj:  no 
accominodation  save  that  offered  bv  jirivate  families;  but  its  fjrowinjj  |)opularity  renders 
the  erection  of  hotels  almost  certain,  and  then  jjood-bv  to  its  old-fashioned  simpliein  ! 
Our  illustrations  include  a  view  of  this  primitive  villajie  from  the  belfry  of  il'^ 
old  church,  which  the  people,  since  Mr.  I'enn  made  his  sketch,  have  inexcusiMv 
destroyed — the  only  instance  in  the  town's  history  of  a  disregard  for  its  time-honimil 
memorials.  The  antiquitv  of  this  building  f^ave  it  interest,  but  it  ])ossesscd  special  ;iiili- 
quarian  value  to  the  visitor  on  account  of  its  identification  with  one  of  tiu'  most  fani'ii:- 


EASTERN    l.OXG    ISLAND. 


255 


divines  in  our  history.  Here  the  Rev.  Lyman  Hccchcr  oiriciatcd  as  minister  durinp;  a 
period  of  twelve  years,  from  1798  to  1810;  and  durinjj  his  residence  in  the  town  two  of 
his  distinguished  children,  Catharine  and  Rdward,  were  horn.  The  view  from  the  belfry 
of  tlu'  church  is  pleasinjr,  the  distant  glimjise  of  the  sea  contrasting  charmingly  with  the 
embowered  cottages  in  tiie  foreground.  Tiie  old  wind-mill  gives  quaintness  to  the  pict- 
ure. Two  of  these  queer  piles  stand  at  the  east  of  the  village.  They  are  very 
picturesque,   reminding   one    forcibly   of   the    quaint    old    mills    in    Holland   which   artists 


iiucilor  nl    TaMU's    '*  Uttnu',   .Sufcl    lioirn;.' 


iiavf   always   delighted   to    paint.      'Ihey    form   a   distinctive    feature   of   this   jiart    of  the 
iskmd,  inasmucii  as  there  are  few  similar  structures  existing  anywheri'  in  our  country. 

But  Ivist  Ham|)t()n  is  not  only  renowned  as  the  residence  of  Lyman  Heecher,  but 
(if  one  pi-euliarly  associatetl  with  our  best  impulses  and  feelings.  It  was  here  that  John 
Howard  Payne,  author  of  "Home,  Sweet  Home,"  passed  his  boyhood.  It  is  commonly 
asserted  that  he  was  l)orn  in  the  very  old,  shingled  cottage  pointed  out  as  his  residence; 
bill  of  this  there  is  some  doubt.      That  his  father  resided  here  during  the  tender  infancy 


256 


PIC  TURESQ i 7:"    AMERICA. 


^^•«t 


of  tlu-  lad  is  the  better-supported  story ;  but  here,  at  least,  the  precocious  lad  spent 
several  years  of  his  early  boyhood.  His  father  was  principal  of  Clinton  Academy,  one  of 
the  first  institutions  of  the  kind  established  in  Long  Island.  The  old  house  is  held  very 
sacred  by  the  villagers,  and  the  ancient  kitchen,  with  its  antique  fireplace,  stands  tf)-day 
just  as  it  did  when  Payne  left  it  for  his  homeless  wanderings  over  the  world.  It  is  truly 
a  homely  home ;  but,  no  doubt,  many  a  happy  hour  was  passed  in  the  family  circle  around 
the  bright  blaze  on  the  hearth,  the  simple  joys  of  which  were  well  calculated  to  inspire 
one  of  the  best-known  and  best-loved  lyrics  in  our  language.  Let  no  sacrilegious  iiand 
touch  the  old  timbers  of  this  precious  relic  !  In  a  land  where  memorials  of  the  past  are 
so  few,  and  one,  also,  where  simple,  happy  homes  are  so  abundant,  it  is  specially  fit  that 
we  should  preserve  tiie  roof  which  sheltered  one  who  has  expressed  the  memories  that 
cling  around  the  hearthstone  in   words  tiiat  thrill   the  hearts  of  millions. 

■  From  East  Hampton  to  the  easterly  extremity  of  Montauk  Point,  the  peninsula 
possesses  a  peculiar  charm.  The  road  follows  the  sea-shore  over  a  succession  of  undu- 
lating, grass-covered  hills.  It  has  been  pronounced,  by  some  admirers,  the  finest  sea-drive 
in  America.  There  is  at  all  times  and  in  all  places  a  fascination  in  the  sea-shore, 
whether  we  explore  the  rocky  precipices  of  Mount  Desert,  or  follow  the  sandy  cliffs  of 
Long  Island.  Hut  a  summer  jaunt  along  the  cliffs  of  Montauk  Point  has  a  charm  diffi- 
cult to  match.  The  hills  are  like  the  open  downs  of  England,  and  their  rich  grasses 
afford  such  excellent  grazing  tiiat  great  numbers  of  cattle  and  sheep  are  every  year 
driven  there  for  pasturage.  The  peaceful  herds  upon  the  grassy  slopes  of  the  hills ;  the 
broken,  sea-wasiied  cliffs;  the  beach,  with  the  ever-tumbling  surf;  the  wrecks  that  strew 
the  shore  in  pitiful  reminder  of  terrible  tragedies  passed ;  the  crisp,  delicious  air  from  the 
sea;  tiie  long,  superb  stretch  of  blue  waters — all  these  make  uj)  a  picture  that  is  full 
l)Oth  of  exhilaration  and  of  repose.  The  heart  expands  and  the  blood  glows  under  the 
sweet,  subtile  stimulant  of  the  scene,  even  while  delicious  calm  and  contentment  fill  the 
chambers  of  the  mind.  The  interest  of  the  scene  continually  varies,  even  while  its  gen- 
eral features  are  almost  monotonously  the  same.  A  boat  on  the  beach,  half  buried  in 
encroaching  sand ;  a  mass  of  remains  of  wrecked  vessels,  such  as  Mr.  Fenn  grajihically 
calls  "  The  Graveyard ; "  a  gnarled,  wind-beaten  tree  on  the  hills ;  changing  groups  of 
cattle,  among  whicli  occasionally  appear  drovers  or  herdsmen  on  horseback  ;  vessels 
appearing  and  disappearing  in  the  horizon  of  the  sea— these  make  up  the  changes  ol  the 
picture,  and,  simjile  as  they  are,  give  abundant  pleasure  to  the  wayfarer. 

At  last,  Montauk  Point  is  reached.  This  is  a  bold,  solitary  point  of  land,  composed 
of  sand,  bowlders,  and  pebbles,  with  for  stretches  of  sea  on  three  of  its  sides.  The 
storms  here  are  grand,  the  wide  Atlantic  rolling  in  with  unbroken  force  upon  the  shores. 
On  the  extreme  point  stands  a  tall,  white  light-house,  erected  in  1795,  and  one  of  the 
best-known  lights  of  the  coast.  Mrs.  Sigoumey,  while  on  a  visit  to  the  Point,  in  1.^37, 
wrote  the  following  lines: 


'1 

r 


GRIST     WINU-MILLS     AT     EAST     HAMPTON. 


n 


258  picrrRiisori-:  amurica. 

"  '  Ultima    Thtile '  of  tiiis  ancient  isle, 
Against  whose  heart  the  everlasting  surge, 
Long  travelling  on,  and  ominous  ol  wrath, 
I'orevor  beats  I     Thou  lift'st  an  eye  of  li^tht 
Uiito  the  vexed  and  storm-tossed  mariner, 
(luiding  him  safely  to  his  home  again. 
So  teach  us,  'mid  our  sorest  ills,  to  wear 
The  crown  of  mercy,  and,  with  changeless  eye, 
Look  up  to  heaven.' 

Eastern   Lonsi  Islaiul  is  uiidorgoinfr  many  pliysical   changes.     In  reports  made  to  thu 
State    Lejjfislature    l)y  W.  W.  Mather,  more   than  thirty  years  ago,  we   tind  a  full  aiul  in- 


Moonlight  on  Shore. 

teresting  description  of  the  action  of  the  sea  on  this  peninsula,  and  also  upon  Oiitiu 
Point.  "The  coast  of  Long  Island,"  he  says,  "on  the  south  side,  from  Montauk  Point 
to  Nejieague  Beach,  a  distance  of  three  miles,  is  constantly  washing  away  by  the  action 
of  the  hea\y  surf  beyond  the  base  of  the  cliffs,  protected  only  by  narrow  shingle  beaches 
of  a  few  yards  or  rods  in  width.  The  pebbles  and  bowlders  of  the  beaches  serve  as  a 
partial  protection  to  the  cliffs  during  ordinary  tides  in  calm  weather;  but  even  then,  1>\ 
the  action  of  the  surf  as  it  tumbles  upon  the  shore,  they  are  continually  grinding  into 
sand  and  finer  materials,  and  swept  far  away  by  the  tidal  currents.  During  storms  and 
high  tides,  the  surf  breaks  directly  against  the  base  of  tiie  cliffs ;   and  as  they  are  forniLti 


J-ASrER.V    LONG    /SL.IXD. 


259 


only  (>r  '""^t-"  materials,  as  sand  and  clay,  with  a  sui)stratiini  of  bowlders,  pebbles,  Rravcl, 
,111(1  loam,  we  can  easily  apjjreciate  the  destructive  agency  of  the  heavy  waves,  roUinjr  in 
unbroken  from  the  broad  Atlantic.  The  destruction  of  land  from  this  cause  is  less  than 
one  would    be    led    to    supj)ose,    but    still    it    is    considerable.      The    road    from    Nepeague 


The   Downs. 


Beach  to  Montauk  Point,  which  originally  was  some  distanc  from  the  shore,  has  dis- 
appeared in  several  places  by  the  falling  of  the  cliffs.  There  are  no  data  by  which  to 
estimate  the  inroads  of  the  sea  on  this  coast  as  this  part  of  the  island  is  held  in  com- 
mon hv  an  association  of  individuals  who  use  it  for  pasturage,  and  it  is  inhabited  by 
three  herdsmen  only,  who  arc  frequently  changed,  and  who  live  several  miles  distant 
from  each  other. 

"  From  Nepeague   Beach  to  two  miles  west    of  Southampton,  the  coast   is  protected 


I'lic   S.ind-drifl. 


liy  a  broad  and  slightly-inclined  sand-beach,  which  breaks  the  force  of  the  surf  as  it 
rolls  In  from  the  ocean.  From  Southampton  westward,  the  coasi  of  the  island  is  pr(<- 
tccted  by  long,  narrow  islands,  from  one  to  five  or  six  miles  distant  from  the  main 
island. 


26o 


PICTURESQUE    AMERICA. 


"  The  eastern  pprts  of 
Gardiner's  and  F'lunih  Is|. 
ands,  which  arc  composed 
of  loose  materials,  are  wash- 
injj  away  in  consequence  of 
the  very  strong  tidal  cur- 
rents, and  the  heavy  sea 
rollinjj  in  upon  their  shoics 
from  the  open  ocean.  The 
action  upon  these  coasts  is 
so  rajiid  as  to  attract  die 
attention  of  the  inhaliitants, 
and  calculations  even  have 
been  made  as  to  the  time 
that  will  probably  elaj)sc'  be- 
fore they  will  have  disiij). 
peared.  Rocks  that  have 
formed  a  jiart  of  I'liiiuh 
Island  may  now  be  nl)- 
served,  at  low  water,  a  mile 
or  more  from  the  present 
shore.  Little  Gull  island 
(to  the  east  of  Plunil)  M- 
and),  on  wl  ■';h  a  lijfht-iiouse 
is  located,  was  disappeaiini,' 
so  rapidly,  a  few  years  since, 
that  it  became  necessarv  tn 
protect  it  from  the  further 
inro.ids  of  the  ocean  bv  eii- 
cirelini:  it  with  a  stiniii.' 
sea-wall. 

"  Oyster-Pond  Point  is 
wcarinji  away  rai)idl\.  hv 
the  combnied  action  ol  ihe 
waves  during  heavv  iiciih- 
east  storms,  and  the  sin  mi: 
tidal  I  iMient  which  Ih'us 
with  )j;reat  vcjneity  thmiiLji 
Plmnb      Gut.        Durinit      i 


EASTERN    LONG    ISLAND. 


261 


heavy  storm,  in  1S36,  the  sea  made  a  clean  break  over  about  one-quarter  of  a  mile  of 
the  eastern  part  of  the  Point,  washed  away  all  the  liirhter  materials,  and  ci'.t  a  shallow 
channel,  through  which  the  tide  now  flows. 

"Another  effect  of  the  sea  is  the  formation  of  marine  alluvion.  Northeast  storms 
hrin<'  in  a  heavy  sea  fiom  the  ocean,  which,  rollin<r  oblicjuely  along  the  shore,  aided  by 
powerful  titlal  currents,  sweep  the  alluvia  along  in  a  westerly  direction.  Northwest 
winds  do  not  bring  in  an  ocean-swell,  anil  the  waves  which  they  raise  fall  upon  the 
shore  in  a  'ine  nearly  perpendicular  to  the  trend  of  the  coast ;  so  that  their  effect  is 
to  grind  the  j  vbbles  and  sand  to  gravel  by  the  action  of  the  surf,  rather  than  to  trans- 
port them  coastwise.  In  this  way  outlets  of  small  bays  are  frc(]uvntly  obstructed  by 
bars,  shoals,  and  spits,  formed  by  the  tidal  currents  sweeping  past  their  mouths,  and  de- 
positing the  materials  in  the  eddy  formed  by  the  meeting  of  the  currents.  Almost 
every  hav  and  inlet,  when  not  protected  from  the  sea  by  sandv  islands,  have  their  out- 
lets blocked  up  entirely  by  the  materials  deposited,  or  so  nearly  as  to  leave  only  narrow 
entrances." 


'^'^'^^ 


-tit,  V-"  ^'—-'' 


Mmilniik    I'nint. 


THE    LOWER    MISSISSIPPI. 


WITH       II.  I.  L'  S  1    K  A  T  I  O  N  S       H  V       A  I.  !•  K  li  I) 


\V  A  U  D. 


jjgjaay 

Jg-jM 

T  rST   fifty  years  after   Columbus   discovered 

J  (ho  islands  of  the  naliamas,  De  So;o,  an 
itiual  of  I'i/arro  and  Cortcz  in  coiirajfe  and 
s|)irit,    but    not    in    fortune,   accompanied    hv   a 

broken-down  and  disjtiriteU  remnanl  of  a  once-powc.ful  expedition,  reached  the  li;inb 
of  the  Mississippi  a  thousand  miles  or  more  from  its  mouth.  The  discovery  gave  him 
a  lastiii);  fame,  and  furnished  him  a  lilting  >rrave.  This  river,  ever-chanjjinn  ami  yit 
ever  the  same,  after  more  than  three  centuries  still  answers  to  the  orijrinil  description 
of  the  adventurfius  S|.aniards,  for  their  chief  chronicler  writes  that  "the  river  wiis  so 
broad  that  if  a  man  stood  stil!  on  the  oth<r  side,  it  could  not  Ir"  told  whether  he  .vis  a 


THE    LOWER    MISSISSIPPI. 


26: 


nian  or  n".     The   channel,"  he   continues,  "was  very  deep,  tiie  current   str()n<r,  tlie  water 
I   iiuddv,  and   filled  with    floating   trees."      Luis   de    Moscoso,  who    took   command    tjf   Ue 
Suto's  expedition  upon  the  decease  of  the  great  captain,  gave  up  all  ambition  excej)t  to 
iscape  with   his   distressed    followers  from   a  country  where   tliev  had    met  with  S(j  much 
iiiisfortuiK',  aiid    for   this    purpose    he    finally  embarked    in    a    lew  rudely-built    brigantines, 
which,  left  to   the   current,  Moscoso   felt   assured  would  reach   the  ocean.      On   the   route 
the  discomfited   Europeans  passed  what   are    now   known    as   the    hills   of  \'icksburg,  the 
broken   lands   about    Fort    Adams,  and    Baton    Rouge.      .All   else   on    the   voyage    was   a 
monotonous  swamp;   the   banks   of  the   river  were   nearly  covered  with  water,  and    linetl 
•  with  tall  cypresses,  draped  as  if   in   mourning,  with  pendent  moss.      Even  the  low  banks 
tinally  sank  out  of  sight ;   the  current,  however,  continued  to  flow,  and  Moscoso 's  antici- 
pations were   realized,  for  the  brigantines  finally  floated  in  the  clear  green   waters    of  the 
open  Cliilf. 

More  than  a  century  elapsed  after  the  discovery  of  the  river  before  its  solitude  was 
again  disturbed  by  the  presence  of  the  white  man.  During  this  time  its  mouth  became 
involved  in  popular  mystery.  Tales  were  circdlated  that  the  flood  of  water,  where  the 
i^icat  oiiilet  should  be,  was  precipitated  into  the  earth;  that  the  story  of  Moscoso  and  his 
companions  was  a  fiction  ;  that  great  dragons  and  sullen  mists  guarded  the  vicinity  from 
man's  approach:  and  these  tales,  so  harmonious  with  the  spirit  of  the  age,  found  confir 
mation  in  the  traditions  of  the  Indians,  who  lived  thousands  of  miles  away,  on  the  banks 
of  the  Fox  and  the   Illinois. 

In  the  year  1673  Manjuette,  a  French  monk,  left  Quebec,  traversed  the  great  north- 
ern lakes,  and  reached  the  "  L^pper  Mississippi"  by  way  of  the  Fox  and  Wisconsin  Rivers. 
Having  accompli. .  ed  what  was  then  supposed  to  be  an  heroic  task,  he  returned  to 
yuebec,  and  announced  that,  from  what  he  saw,  he  was  ceitain  the  Gulf  of  Mexico 
could  be  reached  by  uninterrupted  navigation.  Great  rejoicinffs  ensued ;  the  /"<•  Dcum 
was  sung  in  all  the  churches;  the  military  fired  salutes,  and  the  great  "western  vallev," 
li\  the  right  of  discovery,  was  declared  to  belong  to  France.  La  Salle  followed,  and, 
Irom  the  Falls  of  St.  .Anthony,  made  the  first  continuous  voyage  of  the  whole  length 
III  ilic  river.  He  entered  the  (iulf  of  Mexico  .\pril  9,  1682,  founded  the  fort  of  St. 
I.onis,  and  gave  to  the  adjacent  lands  the  name  of  Louisiana.  Returning  home,  he  fitted 
mil  11)  expedition  to  find  the  mouth  of  the  river  from  the  sea.  .Af'er  coasting  many 
weary  months  and  establishing  two  forts  in  the  vicinity,  his  men,  incensed  by  his  severe 
liiscipline,  and  hopeless  from  his  many  failures,  assassinated  hmi  at  the  mouth  of  'I'rinil\- 
Kivtr,  Galveston   Hay,  which  he  had  reached  in  his  long  and  fruitless  search. 

The  mouth  of  the  liver,  which  thus  eluded  search,  was  discoveref'  by  Iberville  eigh- 
teen years  later.  Instead  of  one  vast  current  pouring  into  the  Gulf,  it  was  found  to 
consist  of  numerous  arms,  or  passes,  through  low  swamps  and  islands  formed  by  the 
sediment    brought    Jown    by    the   river.     This   net-work    of  creeks,  bayous,  and  passes,  is 


264 


PIC  TURESQ  UE    A  ME  RICA. 


known  as  the  Delta  of  the  Mississippi.  It  covers  an  area  estimated  at  fourteen  thou- 
sand square  miles,  and  is  slowly  advancing  into  the  Gulf  by  the  shoaling,  caused  by  the 
deposition  of  fresh  sediment  brought  down  by  the  river.  Three  of  the  main  passes  beat 
the  practical  names  of  Southwest,  South,  Northeast,  and  the  fourth  is  called  A  I'Outrt 


Sii\illiwest  Pm§. 


Tlic  ragged  and  unformed  arms  of  the  "passes"  are  involved  in  what  appears,  even 
after  careful  e.xamination,  to  be  an  intenninable  marsh.  It  is  po  wonder  that  La  Salle 
consumed  years  in  ih«'  (litfieult  search,  for  (here  is  not  a  place  on  all  the  extensive  liiu' 
of  the   gulf-coast    that    is    not    more   suggestive   of  the    proper  nu)uth    of  a   grand  livcr 


burteen  thou- 
caused  by  the 
n  passes  beat 
I  a  rOutrc 


'vV 


r«i, 


i|)|R-ars,  even 

hat   I. a  S.illr 

xti'iisivi'  liiu 

i>  rand  i  iviT 


j 

1 

1 

^«! 


i  I 


if'    5 


U-«i    " 


X 


m'K 


iiiKi  ; 


'   ""'s^^r'^H"' 


^ 


I  .^^ 


I 


P-.  «.■  ■ 

I          ■    ill 
^1:  ■        '  .■^m 

1 

r  fc" 

^.-       ^ni^ 

'^ 

^ 

•1 

<• 

• 

f 

I 

■^ 


^ 


dance  < 
half  cer 
tlement 
veiled  I 
of  theii 
coming 
pive  th 
the  pira 
Til 
to  the 
universe 
that  CO 


THE    LOWER    MISSISSIPPI. 


26: 


than  tlic  point  where  it  finds  an  outlet.  With  his  European  experience,  he  naturally  con- 
ceived that  a  stream  on  which  he  had  floated  more  than  a  thousand  miles,  would  sweep 
grandly  into  a  magnificent  bay.  For  miles  before  you  reach  the  passes,  you  observe 
the  muddy  Mississippi  water  in  great  masses,  rolling  and  tumbling  unmingled  with  the 
briny  blue  sea.  Gradually  the  dull  hue  assumes  supremacy,  and  at  last  you  are  greeted 
by  a  simple  object  of  beauty  and  practical  interest,  which  has  been  erected  by  human 
hands.  Rising  up  from  the  interminable  level  is  a  solitary  light-house,  built  at  the 
entrance  of  the  Southwest  Pass.  This  structure  is  the  sentinel  on  guard — an  immovable 
point,  from  the  bearings  of  which  the  pilot  is  enabled  to  bring  his  ship  to  safe  harbor. 
Just  inside  the  Northeast  Pass  is  a  huge  mud-bank,  known  as  the  Balize.  Long  years 
ago  people,  mostly  of  Spanish  origin,  who  found  it  irksome  to  live  under  the  restraints 
of  settled  communities,  made  a  home  at  the  Balize,  tempted  by  the   isolation,  the  abun- 


ill 


A  Bayou  of  the  Mississippi. 

(lance  of  game,  and  the  occasional  reward  for  acting  as  pilots  or  wreckers.  Within  a 
half  century  the  growing  demands  of  commerce  have  changed  the  rude  huts  of  the  set- 
tlement into  pleasant  residences.  The  once-solitary  homes  of  these  waste  places  are  enli- 
vened by  good  wives  and  bright  children.  The  pilots  are  personally  inferior  to  none 
of  their  class;  and,  with  beautifully-modelled  boats,  are  ever  welcome  visitors  to  the  in- 
coming ships,  which  t'-.ey  often  board  far  out  at  sea,  and,  if  leisure  permits,  will  not  only 
fjivc  the  news  of  the  day,  hut  spin  a  thrilling  yarn  of  the  terrible  times  when  Lafitte, 
the  pirate,  held  high  revels  at  the  Balize. 

The  channels  of  the  passes,  for  a  long  time  after  their  entrance,  are  only  discernible 
to  the  practised  eye  of  the  pilot  by  wh'.t  appears  a  regular  current  flowing  on  in  the 
universal  waste.  As  you  ascend,  if  on  board  of  a  swiftly-moving  sieamer,  you  perceive 
that  coarse  grass  finally  appears  in  consecutive  lines,  and  then  crop  out  here  and  there 


piM 


266 


PICTURESQUE    AMERICA. 


Mil 


iiTcat  lumps  of  nuul,  around  wliich  seethes  and  boils  what  now  has  become  a  rushing  cur 
rent.  It  is  apparent  that  the  sediment  of  the  river  has  obtained  a  foothold.  Skadiiv 
movinfj  onward,  the  shore  at  last  becomes  defined,  and  water-soaked  shrubs  are  noticeable, 
ever  moving  and  fretting  from  the  lashings  of  the  deflecting  waves.  When  some  fifteen 
or  twenty  miles  have  been  made,  you  ask,  possibly,  with  some  surprise,  "  Is  this,  indeed, 
the  great  Mississippi  ?  when  you  learn  that  you  are  in  one  of  the  four  entrances  ol 
the  river;  anon,  you  reach  the  "head  of  the  passes,"  and  the  broad  -  flowing  stream,  in 
its   full  volume,  opens  to  your  gaze.      If  the  day  is  bright  and  the  sun  well  toward  the 


Sunset  in  the  Mi-^jsissippi  Swarip. 


horizon,  as  the  swelling  tide  moves  grandly  onward,  its  surface  glistens  with  the  hues  oi 
brass  and  bronze. 

W'getation  now  rapidly  asserts  its  supremacy ;  the  low  banks  are  covereil  with 
ferns,  and  here  and  there  is  an  ill-shapen  tree;  while,  landward,  a  dark  line  indicates 
the  perfectly-developed  forest. 

Naught  but  the  sameness  and  monotony  of  the  iiver  now  impresses  you,  save  the 
consciousness  that  you  are  borne  upon  a  mighty,  sweeping  flood.  Mile  after  mile,  and 
still  the  same.  The  bittern  screams,  the  wild-fowl  start  in  upward  flight ;  and,  if  niirht 
sets   in,  you   seem    to    be   moving   through   an    unvaried  waste.      The    low   and   scared v- 


THE   LOWER    MISSISSIPPI. 


267 


perceptible  walls  of  Forts  Jackson  and  St.  Philip  arc  just  discernible,  when  lights  dancing 
ahead  i^ive  the  first  signs  of  intelligible  settlement.  The  "quarantine"  is  reached,  the 
official  visit  is  made,  and  again  you  commence  your  monotonous  upward  trip. 

If  the  morning  sun  greets  you  within  fifty  miles  of  New  Orleans,  you  find  the  banks 
of  the  river  above  the  flood-tide,  and  evidences  of  permanent  cultivation  and  happy  home- 
steads attract  the  eye.  Along  the  "  coast,"  as  the  river-banks  are  denominated,  are  the 
"gardens,"  upon  which  the  city  depends  for  vegetable  focnl.  Then  come  large  sugar- 
plantations,  the  dwelling-houses  made  imposing  by  their  verandas,  and  picturesque  by 
being  half  hidden  in  an  untold  variety  of  magnificent  trees. 

Thus  is  displayed,  in  the  upward  trip  from  the  Balize  to  within  twoscore  miles  of 
New  Orleans,  the  gradual  development  of  the  banks  of  the  Mississippi.  The  constant 
creation  goes  on  seemingly  under  your  own  eye.  From  water  to  ooze,  to  mud,  to  soil ; 
from  grass  to  shrubs,  to  ferns,  to  forest-trees. 

The  first  grand  tree-development  of  the  "swamps"  is  the  tall  and  ghostly  cypress. 
It  flourishes  in  our  semi-tropical  climate  of  the  South,  being  nourished  by  warmth,  water, 
and  the  richest  possible  soil.  The  Louisiana  product  finds  a  rival  in  Florida ;  and  in 
both  places  this  remarkable  tree  is  perfect  in  growth,  often  reaching  the  height  of  one 
hundred  and  thirty  feet.  The  base  of  the  trunk,  generally  covered  with  ooze  and  mud, 
conceals  the  formidable  "  spikes,"  called  "  knees,"  which  spring  up  from  the  roots.  These 
excrescences,  when  young,  are  sharp  and  formidable  weapons,  and,  young  or  old,  are 
nearly  as  hard  as  steel.  To  travel  in  safety  through  a  Hooded  cypress-swamp  on  horse- 
back, the  greatest  care  must  be  taken  to  avoid  the  concealed  cypress-knees;  for,  if  your 
generous  steed,  while  floundering  in  the  soft  mud,  settles  down  upon  one  of  them,  he 
may  never  recover  from  the  injury.  The  bark  of  the  tree  is  spongy  and  fibrous ;  and  the 
trunk  of  the  tree  often  attains  fifty  or  sixty  feet  without  a  branch.  The  foliage,  as  seen 
from  below,  is  as  soft  as  green  silken  fringe,  and  strangely  beautiful  and  delicate,  when 
contrasted  with  the  tree  itself  and  the  gloomy,  repulsive  place  of  its  nativity.  The  wood, 
though  light  and  soft,  is  of  extraordinary  durability.  It  has  been  asserted,  that  cypress- 
trees  which  have  been  buried  a  thousand  years  under  the  solid  but  always  damp  earth, 
now  retain  every  quality  of  the  most  perfect  wood.  At  the  root  of  the  cypress  the 
pahiietto  flourishes  in  vigor;  and  its  intenselv  green,  spear-like  foliage  adds  to  the  variety 
of  tile  vegetable  productions  in  the  forest  solitudes. 

Coming  to  the  unsubmerged  lands,  which,  like  islands,  are  everywhere  interspersed  in 
tills  immense  swamp,  you  meet  with  broad  expanses  on  which  grow  the  renownetl  "cane- 
brakes;"  and,  leaving  them,  you  possibly  come  upon  vistas  of  prairie,  which,  open  to  the 
coniant  iiiiluenec  of  sunshine  and  sea-air,  are  dotted  over  with  the  magnificent  "live- 
oak,"  the  most  picturesque  tree  of  our  continent.  Fifty  years  ago  the  government  took 
care  of  these  monarchs  of  vegetation,  depending  upon  their  strong  arms  to  bear  our  flag 
suei  essfully  in  foreign  seas ;  but  iron  and  steam  have  combined  to  make  more  formidable 


268 


PICTURESQUE    AMERICA. 


Cypress-Swamp. 

defences,   and    the    live-oak,   as    a    necessity    for    naval    architecture,   is    a    thing    of   the 
past. 

In  contrast  to  the  oak  is  the  wonderful    magnolia,  a  flowering  giant,  often    reacliing 
an  altitude  of  ninety  feet.     Its  form  is  attractive,  and  each  particular  bough  has  character- 


THE   LOWER    MISSISSIPPI. 


269 


istics  of  its  own.  Its  leaves  are  large  and  crisp ;  the  surface,  exposed  to  the  sun,  is  of 
a  polished,  dark  green ;  while  underneath  it  is  almost  as  gray  and  velvety  as  the  mullein. 
Wiien  the  ever-green  foliage  of  the  live-oaks  is  trembling  and  whispering  in  the  slightest 
breeze,  or  waving  in  great  swaths  in  the  rushing  wind,  the  magnolia  stands  firm  and  un- 
moved—a beauty  too  full  of  starch  to  bend.  But  it  niakcs  amends.  Its  large  imperial 
blossom.,  of  pure  white  look  like  great  ivory  eggs,  enveloped  in  green  and  brown.  When 
the  petals  finally  open,  you  have  that  bridal  gift,  the  orange-blossom,  enlarged  to  a  span 
in  diameter,  and  so  fragrant  that  it  oppresses  the  senses.  The  magnolia-tree,  in  full  blos- 
som, with  the  Spanish  moss  enshrouding  it  in  a  gray,  neutral  haze,  makes  a  superb 
picture. 

The  scenery  of  the  undisturbed  forests  of  the  Lowei  Mississippi  is  of  a  mysterious 
interest.  Destitute  though  it  be  of  the  charms  of  mountains  and  water-falls,  with  no 
distant  views,  no  great  compreheiisive  exhibitions,  it  nevertheless  inspires  a  sort  of  awe 
which  it  is  difficult  to  define  or  account  for.  All  objects  are  upon  a  water-level ;  and, 
when  you  look  aloft  through  the  gloom  of  the  towering  trees,  you  feel  as  if  you  were 
in  a  well,  and  below  the  usual  surface  of  the  earth,  and  that  vhe  place  is  born  of  the 
overflowing  waters. 

The  grape-vines  which  festoon  the  trees  curl  round  their  suppoits  with  the  force  of 
cordage,  and  their  trunks,  slimy  and  grim,  spri..g  from  the  ground,  and,  writhing  up- 
ward, like  great  pythons,  grasp  a  supporting  limb  sixty  feet  in  the  air.  The  shimmer  of 
distant  lagoons  greets  you  in  the  distance,  and  there  are  wator-mnrks  on  the  trees  twenty 
feet  above  your  head.  If  you  look  into  the  standing  pools,  you  will  find  the  surround- 
ing earth  as  black  as  tar,  and  free  from  grass.  The  water  is  yellow  with  the  sap  of  de- 
caying vegetation,  and  the  effluvia  chill  the  heart. 

If  some  passing  storm  has  made  a  "window"  and  let  in  the  sunshine,  the  under- 
growth, heretofore  stunted  or  entirely  repressed  by  the  shade,  now  starts  into  life,  and 
seems  to  rejoice  in  new-born  luxuriance.  The  bright  colors  are  metallic  in  intensity.  The 
flower  of  the  scarlet  lobelia  trembles  and  flashes  as  if  a  living  coal  of  fire.  The  hydran- 
gea, a  modest  shrub  in  the  North,  becomes  a  tree,  a  very  mound  of  delicate  blue  flowers. 

A  deep  and  lasting  impression  was  made  upon  the  early  discoverers  of  the  Missis- 
sippi by  the  drapery  which  festooned  the  trees,  and  which  is  generally  known  as  Spanish 
moss.  It  is  probable  that  Moscoso  and  his  companions,  when  floating  disconsolate  and 
heart-broken  toward  the  Gulf,  looked  upon  this  stranre  vegetable  production  as  mourn- 
ing drapery  for  the  losses  and  disappointments  of  the  expedition,  and  in  sorrow  for  the 
death  of  their  departed  chieftain.  This  moss  is  a  parasite  that  lives  by  inserting  its 
delicate  suckers  under  the  bark,  and  draws  its  sustenance  from  the  flowing  sap.  It  is 
repelled  by  trees  in  perfect  vigor,  but  in  one  enfeebled  by  age  or  accident  the  moss 
gains  foothold,  and  goes  on  with  its  quiet  work  of  destruction  until,  vampire-like,  it 
consumes  the  heart's-blood  of  its  helpless  victim,  and   then  enwraps  it  in   a  weird  wind- 


270 


PICTURESQUE   AMERICA. 


ing-shcet.  Except  from  practical  observation,  it  is  dilTicult  to  comprehend  the  (luant'tv 
of  this  parasite  which  will  sometimes  gather  on  even  one  tree  ;  and,  startUng  as  may  \k 
the  assertion,  we  have  seen  great  streamers,  sixty  feet  in  length,  gracefully  descending 
from   the    topmost    branches   to  the   ground.      We    have   known    many    trees   apiiarentiy 


>l| 


s 


Magnolia  Swunp. 


Stricken  with  age,  which,  artificially  relieved  of  this  burden,  have  revived  and  assumed 
almost  their  natural  vigor.  In  the  great  order  of  Nature,  the  moss  has  its  pur|)()vr  It 
consumes  the  hard  and  iron-like  wood-;  which  would  otherwise  for  long  years,  a  ccnniiv 
perhaps,  he  a  vegetable  wreck,  and  thus  (juietly  and  surelv  makes  way  for  a  new  gmutli 


THE    LOWER    MISSISSIPPI. 


271 


This  Si).iiiisli  moss  has  been,  with  some  truth,  likened  to  the  shattered  sails  of  a  ship 
torn  into  shreds  by  the  storm,  but  still  hanging  to  the  rigging.  To  Chateaubriand  it 
suggested  ghosts,  but  no  perfect  idea  can  be  obtained  by  comparison  ;  it  is  essentially 
peculiai  in  its  aspect. 

Coni])aratively  within  a  few  years,  the  Spanish  moss  has  become  important  as  an 
article  dl  commerce,  for,  when  plucked  from  the  trees,  from  whicii  it  is  easily  separated, 
ami  then  thoroughly  "  cured "  and  threshed  of  its  delicate  integuments  of  bark  and 
leaves,  it  is  found  that  through  the  long,  thready  moss  is  a  delicate  fibre  as  black  as  jet, 
and  almost  as  thick  as  horsehair,  which  it  strikingly  resemi)les.  For  the  stuffing  of 
mattress'TS  and  cushions  it  is  valuable,  and  the  increasing  demand  for  it  has  already 
opened  a  new  field  of  enterprise  among  the  denizens  of  the  swamps, 

IJienville,  the  first  governor  of  Louisiana,  is  represented  as  laying  the  foundation  of 
NJew  Orleans  on  the  first  available  high  land  he  met  with  in  ascending  the  river.  IJelow 
the  city  there  are  now,  along  the  banks,  nearly  fifty  miles  of  continuous  cultivation, 
and  this  arable  land  is  the  result  of  the  accretions  of  the  hundred  and  fifty  years  which 
have  jiassed  since  the  city  was  founded.  As  you  ascend  the  river,  evidences  multiply 
that  you  are  approaching  the  great  Southern  metropolis.  A  hundred  columns  of  smoke 
arc  scon  when  you  look  across  the  land  known  as  the  "  English  turn."  Large  fleets  of 
sailing-vessels  in  tow  pass  on  their  way  to  the  ocean.  Nondescript  craft  of  all  kinds 
line  the  shores ;  at  last  the  "  Crescent  City "  appears,  stretching  miles  away  along  the 
coast,  and  opening  wide  its  enfolding  arms  as  a  welcome  to  the  arriving  stranger. 

Tlic  rivei  o,)posite  the  city  is  more  than  a  mile  and  a  half  in  width,  and,  notwith- 
--taniliiig  the  velocity  of  its  movement,  and  the  distance  from  the  sea  (one  hundred  and 
eight  miles),  the  tide  regularly  ebbs  and  flows,  modifying  somewhat  the  sweep  of  the 
downward  current.  Here  we  have  a  magnificent  bay,  grand  in  dimensions  as  any 
arm  cf  the  sea.  The  city  extends  along  the  eastern  bank  as  far  as  the  eye  can  reach  ; 
the  western  side  is  dotted  over  with  villagis,  highly-cultivated  fi.rms,  and  great  work- 
^hii|w.  A  consecutive  imie  or  more  of  steamers  is  in  sight,  including  the  magnificent 
■lioating  palaces,"  which  "carry"  between  the  "great  cities  of  the  West,"  down  througl 
everv  conceivable  representative  graduation  lo  the  absurd  "stern-wheeler,"  which  works 
its  wav  up  the  shallower  streams  and  "damp  i)laces,"  tributary  to  the  Arkansas  and 
Udl  kivers.  Shi|)s  of  stately  proportions  from  every  land  lie  side  by  side,  their  masts 
and  Kudagi-  revealing  in  ricii  confusion  a  leafless  forest.  The  ferry-boats  are  constantly 
in  motion,  while  the  great  steam -tugs,  bringing  up  with  ease  a  fleet  of  sailing- ves- 
sels horn  the  mouth  of  the  river,  make  the  lowlands  echo  with  their  iiigh-pressure  puff- 
ing. ,md  send  great  clouds  of  liituminous  smoke  from  their  chimneys,  which,  borne  away 
to  th'  upper  current  of  the  air,  extend  along  the  low  horizon  in  miles  of  serpentine 
loiin  ■. 

lieacliing  the  .shore,  you  find  that  the  '  Levee,"  which   below  was  a  narrow  embuiik- 


meiit, 
tecinin: 

the  fli' 
kccncs 

city,  ai 
T. 

swift 

means 

liy  citi 

primiti 

comnn 

accoini 

ilcstina 

loaded 


THE    LOWER    M/SS/SSIPPI. 


iJi 


iiient,  is  now  a  wide,  artificial  plateau,  extending  miles  each  way,  and  crowded  with  the 
teemiiifj:  productions  of  the  counties  and  States  which  lie  on  the  tributary  streams  of 
the  great  river.  A  Bahel  of  tonj^ues  is  heard  among  the  human  toilers,  who  with  the 
keenest  industry  pursue  their  different  avocations.  \'ou  realize  that  you  are  in  a  great 
citv,  and  at  the  foot  of  a  vast  and  surpassable  inland  navigation. 

To  lloat   down  the  Western    rivers  was  as  easy  as   healthy  respiration  ;   to   stem  the 

swift  current  on  the  upward   trip  was  a  task  of  ahiiost   superhuman  labor.      If  artificial 

means  had   not   come   to   the   rescue,  much   of  the  great  West  which  to-day  is  enriched 

bv  cities   and   towns,  and    teeming   with    intelligent   jiopulations,  would   have   remained   a 

primitive  wilderness.     Before   the   application   of  steam    for  the   propulsion   of  water-craft, 

commerce  was  carried  on  by  means  of  "  broad-horns "  and  "  keel-boats."     The  broad-horn 

accomplished    its    purpose   when,- floating    down   the    current,   it   arrived    at    its   place   of 

destination  and  delivered   its  cargo.     The  keel-boat  not  only  i)rought  do'^'ii  a  cargo,  but, 

liKided  with   fc.eign    products,  was  "eordelled"  by  months  of  hard  work   u|)  the  river  to 

its  original  starting-point.     The  keel-boatmen  of  the   Mississippi  were    a    remarkable   race 

of  mill,     in  strength  they  were  absolute  giants;   in  j)ower  of  sustaining   fatigre,  without 

rivals  in  any  age.     If  they  had    been   classical   in   tiie  expressions   of  their   exultation   of 

|ihvsii,';d   |)ower,  they  would   confidently  have  challenged   Hercules  to  combat,  and,  in  our 

opinion,  would   have  concpiered  that   old  Greek.     The  keel-boatmen  are  gone ;  the  strong 

arms  of  iron,   impelled    by  fire  and  steam,  now  more    perfectly  do  what    was   once   their 

gigantic  work.     But  the  broad-horn   still  exists    in   the  cumbrous  flat-boat,  the   only  craft 

Mike  I'ink   and    his   companions  would   recogni/e.     And  they  will    be  seen    probably  for 

all  time  in  the  harbor  of   New  Orleans,  bearing  ti>  the  great  distributing  markets  of  the 

world  the  agricultural    products   of   our  Western   States.     These    huge   edifices   are   really 

built  upon  large  scows,  sometimes  a  hundred  feet  or  more  in  length,  tin-  superstructure  a 

i;reat,  oblong,  scpiare  building.     A  good  specimen  flat-boat,  with  a  full  load,  is    literally  a 

whoif  block  of  country-stores  afloat.     Intended  oidy  for  the  temporary  purpose    of  tloat- 

iiiLT  down    tl;e   euirent  with   the   s|)ring-tide,  they  need    no    architectural    adornments,   no 

(liialitv  of  beauty,  nothing    but    the  virtue    of   strength.      To   keep   them   off  the  "snags" 

anil  "sawyers,"  they  are  furnished  with    four  immense  "sweeps,"  which    are   sometimes,  in 

timments   of  danger,  worked  with  a  power  '<y  the  flat-boatmen  that  shows   somewhat   of 

the  spirit   of  the  mighty  men  they  so  iiii|)erfect!y  represent.     The  flat  having  reached  its 

plan'   of  destination,  and    be -n   safcv  discharged   of  its  valuable    cargo,  its  mission  as  an 

argosy  is  ended.      Now,  by  transmul.ition,  to  meet  the   further  demands  of  commerce,  it 

is  consigned  to  the  tender  mercies  of  the  saw  and  axe,  and  converted  into  cord-wood. 

.\  favorablv-situated  series  of  plantations,  with  laiul  more  than  ordinarily  high,  and 
ilniifore  eompa.ativelv  free  from  overflow,  in  the  cnurse  of  long  years  of  cultivation 
iiiinine^  the  eenti  •  of  charming  landscape  scenery,  which  combines  the  novelty  of  many 
exutics  growing  side  hy  side  with  the  lH.'st-prescrved  specimens  of  the  original  forest. 


i 

1 

1 

THf:    LOWER    MISSISSIPPI. 


275 


On  tlicse  old  plantations,  modilicd  by  climate,  arc  developed  in  tlie  greatest  perfection 
some  of  the  choicest  tropical  plants.  Orange-trees  may  be  met  with  which  are  tliree- 
iiuarters  of  a  century  old,  with  great,  gnarled  trunks  and  strong  arms,  still  bearing  in 
|)erfecti()n  their  delicious  fruit.  The  sugar-cane,  usually  a  tender,  sensitive  plant,  has  be- 
come acclimated,  and,  though  still  a  biennial,  repays  most  liberally  for  its  cultivation. 
The  magnificent  banana,  with  its  great,  sweeping  leaves  of  emerald  green  waving  in  the 
breeze  with  the  dignity  of  a  banner,  has  within  a  comparatively  few  years  almost  over- 
come its  susceptibility  to  cold,  and  is  now  successfully  cultivated. 

In  the  rear  of  the  garden  you  find  the  elm-shaped  pocan,  of  immense  height  and 
beautiful  proportions,  bearing  abundantly  an  oval-shaped,  thin-shelled  fruit,  possessing  all 
the  sweetness  of  the  hickory-nut  aid  almond  combined.  As  you  go  farther  soutii,  below 
the  Louisiana  coast,  these  trees  form  forests,  and  yield  to  thei,  possessors  princely  ir- 
comes.  Hedges  of  jasmine  lead  up  to  the  door-ways  of  the  planters'  residences,  and  vie 
in  fragrance  with  the  flowing  pomegranate  and  night-blooming  cereus,  and  an  endless 
variety  of  the  ([ueenly  family  of  the  rose.  And  just  where  the  cultivitcd  line  disappears, 
and  the  natural  swamp  begins,  will  often  be  found  the  yellow  jasmine  climbing  up  some 
blasted  tree,  and  usurping  its  dead  branches  for  its  own  uses,  and  covering  it  over  with 
a  canopy  of  blossoms  which  shed  a  fragrance  that,  in  descending,  is  palpable  to  the 
touch  and  oppressive  to  the  nostrils.  Mere  the  honey-bee  revels,  and  the  humming-bird, 
ghincing  in  the  sunlight  as  if  made  of  living  sapphires,  dasiies  to  and  fro  with  light- 
ning rapidity,  shaking  frf)m   its  tiny,  (juivering  wings  the  golden  pollen. 

At  nightfall,  when  the  warm  spring-day  has  disaj)peared,  to  be  followed  by  the  .ol 
sea-breeze,  and  the  atmosphere  predisposes  to  lassitude  and  dreamy  repose,  the  minstrel 
of  the  Southern  landscape,  the  wonderful  mocking-bird,  will  find  a  eommanuing  perch 
near  I  lie  house,  where  he  can  enjoy  the  fragrance  of  flowers  in  the  sea-cooled  air,  and 
know  that  his  human  atlmirers  are  listening,  and  he  will  then  carol  forth  songs  of  praise 
and  admiration,  of  joy  and  humor,  of  swe*-*^  strains  and  discords,  like  a  vry  "  Puck  of 
tlie  woods,"  a  marvel  of  music  and  song. 

Tlie  settlers  who  first  gained  foothold  were  of  French  origin,  and  the  original  im- 
|»ress  is  still  maintaMied.  Up  to  within  a  very  few  years  connnunitics  existed  in  Louisi- 
ana of  the  most  charming  rural  po|)ulation  :  the  little  chapel,  with  its  social  Trench 
pritst  ;  the  men  ti-mperate  and  of  good  bearing,  because  the  genial  climate  called  for 
tncuhratc  labor;  the  worn. mi  bright,  fond  of  home,  and  inheriting  a  natural  taste  for 
dri'ss  worthy  of  the  mother-country.  Ihiprovided  with  the  theatre  and  opera,  these  rural 
populations  were  content  in  matters  of  display  with  the  imposing  ceremonies  of  their 
elumh,  and  for  amusement  with  the  weekly  enjoyment  of  their  extemporized  balls. 
Anmng  this  population  originally  were  many  scions  of  the  i)est  families  of  France,  whose 
hisiiiiic  names  are  still  i)reserved,  who  shed  over  their  simple  settlements  in  the  far-off 
wihls  of  the  Mississippi  something  of  the  style   pertaining  to  the  villa  and  dhUcaii.     In 


276 


PICTURESQUE    AMERICA. 


course  of  time  many  of  these  old  mansions  alonjj  the  river  have  disappeared,  or,  falling 
into  the  possession  of  the  irreverent  Anglo-Saxon,  have  had  their  outward  hces  buried 
under  broadly-constructv'd  verandas  and  galleries — nice  pln.ces  for  shade  and  promenade, 
but  sadly  incongruous,  and  painfully  expressive  of  a  "  sudden  growth." 

The  Mississippi,  left  to  itself  for  hundreds  of  miles  above  its  mouth  in  the  spring- 
floods,  would  overflow  its  banks  from  two  to  three  feet.  To  obviate  such  a  catas- 
trophe, there  has  been  built  by  the  enterprising  planters  a  continuous  line  of  Icvcc,  or 
earth-intrenchments,  upon  which  slight  barrier  depends  the  material  wealth  of  the  i)eoplp. 
The   alluvium,  or   sediment,    of  the    river,  which   is  deposited    most   abundantly  upon  its 


Mnrkct-Oardcn    im    tlif   t'oasl. 


banks,  makes  the  frontage  the  highest  surface,  and,  as  you  go  inland,  \ou  unconsciously 
but  steadily  descend,  at  least  four  feet  to  the  mile,  until  von  often  find  the  watir-kvcl 
marked  on  the  trees  at  times  of  overflow  fltr  above  your  head.  When  the  s|)ring-llii(Hl 
is  at  its  height,  a  person  standing  inside  of  the  levee  has  the  water  running  above  liim. 
and.  if  he  glances  at  the  houses  in  the  rear,  the  level  of  the  Hood  will  possibly  i.atli 
tiie  height  of  the  second-story  windows. 

For  nine  months  of  the  vear  the  Louisiana  planter  pavs  but  little  attention  to  the 
levee,  but,  when  the  spring  comes,  and  the  nulted  snows,  which  fall  even  as  far  oil  as 
the  foot  of  the  Kocky  Mountains,  hnd  their  way  past  his  residence  to  the  sea.  In  is 
suddenly    awakened   to  the   most   intense  anxievy ;   and   when,  at   last,  the   great    flood  of 


THE    LOWER    MISSISSIPPI. 


277 


water— the  drainajjc,  in  fact,  of  two-thirds  of  the  lands  of  the  centre  of  the  continent — 
dashes  over  the  frail  embankment  of  the  levee — he  realizes  what  a  slender  hold  he 
lias  nj)i)n  his  young  crop  and  the  earthy  improvements  of  a  large  estate.  The  rains 
at  these  times  assist  in  making  the  water-soaked  barrier  unstable  ;  rats,  mice,  and  bee- 
tles, have  their  burrows,  and  thousands  of  crawfish,  with  their  claws  as  hard  and  sharp  as 
a  chisel  of  iron,  riddle  the  levee  with  holes.  Under  these  critical  conditions,  even  a  light 
ffind  may  invite  the  impending  catastrophe.  In  an  unexpected  moment  the  alarm  is 
uiven  that  a  "  crevasse  "    is  threatened  !     All  is  confusion  and   consternation.     The  cry  of 


I'lnnlcr's    Hduso   on    the    Mississippi. 

fire  at  miduight  in  a  crowded  city  is  not  more  terrible.  The  plantation-bells  are  rung, 
thi  news  is  carried  to  out-of-the-wav  places  by  fleet  horsemen,  the  laboring  population 
assemble,  and,  armed  with  such  implements  as  are  at  command,  the  attempt  is  made  to 
M,u  tiie  threatening  waves.  The  levee  at  the  point  of  assault,  in  spite  of  all  action  to 
111'  contrary,  moves  from  its  foundation  and  crumbles  away,  and  the  river,  raised  to  an 
niiilicial  height,  now  finds  relief  in  a  current  tha'  roars  like  a  cataract.  If  the  break  is 
"I  formidable  proportions,  the  passing  flat-boat  is  drawn  into  the  vorte.x,  and  sent  like 
a  diip    high   and   drv  into   the    distant    (ields.      Even    the    great    Western    steamer    that 


^M 


78 


PICTURESQUE    AMERICA. 


i  *  1 

breasts  so  grandly  the  downward  current  of  the  river,  in  the  newly-formed  rapids  trem- 
bles and  swerves  from  its  course.  Occasionally  a  crevasse  is  arrested  by  the  eruction 
of  cofTer-dams,  by  piles  driven  in  the  earth,  which  make  the  support  for  branches  of 
trees  or  the  broadside  of  a  flat-boat ;  but,  as  a  rule,  these  ill-directed  labors  are  fiuitless, 
and  the  sweeping  current  is  left  to  take  its  course.  The  lowlands  in  the  rear  of  the 
river-front  are  soon  filled,  and  the  current,  at  last  finding  a  level  with  the  river  itself, 
converts  the  surrounding  country  for  miles  into  a  waste  of  waters. 

Added    to   the    danger   of  overflow  is   that    of  caving  banks.     By  a    natural    law  in 
the    formation    of  the  banks   of  the  Mississippi,    the  alluvium  is    rapidly  deposited   upun 


A    "  (Jievaiisc  *'  on    Ihe    MiMsi:i>ipi)i. 


the  "  points,"  and  dissolves  away  from  the  "  bends."  It  is  not  an  extraordinary  sight  to 
see  a  grandly-constructed  and  ancient  house  hanging  outside  the  levee  and  over  the 
edge  of  the  river-hank,  destined  sooner  or  later  to  drop  into  the  river.  You  will  tind 
these  things  occur  where  the  mighty  current,  sweeping  round  a  bend,  has  worn  away 
the  soft  earth,  often  dissolving  it  by  acres.  If  this  occurs  in  front  of  a  plantatior,  tlie 
house  and  improvements,  perhaps  originally  a  mile  from  the  river,  will  be  gradually 
brought  to  the  edge  of  the  bank,  to  be  finally  engulfed.  The  point  directly  opposite 
the  bend,  however,  makes,  in  accretions,  exactly  what  is  taken  away  from  the  opposite 
side  of  the  river. 


MACKINAC. 

Wrni    ILLUSTRATIONS   BY   J.    DOUGLAS   WOODWARD. 


TRAVELLING  westward 
over  the  frreat  lakes,  we 
constantly  encounter  liefrin- 
niiiirs.  The  newness  of  the 
new  world  is  conspicuous, 
pltMsantly  or  obtrusively,  ac- 
cording to  our  tastes,  but  con- 
spicuous always.  The  cities 
on  the  shores  are  younjj  and 
precocious,  the  villajres  are  younp 
and    awkward,    and    tiie    luniber-sta- 


280 


PIC  TURESQ  UE  A  ME  RICA. 


%\ 


II 


tioiis   arc   young   and   green   with   the    freshly-cut   v_rdure   of  the    fnrest.     The   universal 
boast  on  the  fresh-water  seas  is,  "  See  how  young  we  are  ! " 

You  enter  a  city  of  one  hundred  tiiousand  inhabitants.  "  Twenty  years  ago,  sir,  this 
was  an  unbroken  wilderness,"  observes  the  citizen,  as  he  takes  you  through  thu  busy 
streets  in  his  luxurious  carnage.  The  steamer  stops  at  a  thriving  town  of  ten  thousand 
people.  "  Five  years  ago  there  wasn't  so  much  as  a  shanty  here,"  says  the  hotel- 
keeper,  with  a  flourishing  wave  of  his  hand  toward  the  clustering  houses  and  his  four- 
story  frame  caravansary,  decked  out  in  shining  green  and  white.  Early,  some  bright 
morning,   a   landing   is   made    at    a   wood-station ;   a    long  wharf,  a   group    of    iinpainted 


ii 


'•i 


View  of  Fort  and  Town. 


houses,  a  store,  and  several  saw-mills,  compose  a  promising  settlement.  "  Six  months 
ago,  mister,  there  war'n't  even  a  chip  on  this  yer  spot,"  says  a  bearded  giant,  sitting  on 
a  wood-pile,  watching  the  passengers  as  they  come  ashore. 

Coming  from  the  east  and  striking  the  lakes  at  Buffalo,  the  elderly  traveller  licffins 
to  breathe  this  juvenile  atmosphere  of  the  fresh  water;  and,  as  he  advances  westward,  he 
is  obliged  to  abandon,  one  by  one,  his  cherished  beliefs  and  interests.  History  there  is 
none,  relics  there  are  none,  and  the  oldest  inhabitant  seems  to  him  but  a  boy.  Ai  first 
lie  wonders  and  adinires,  with  a  strange,  new  scorn  for  the  quiet  ocean-village  where  his 
home  is  fixed,  but  gradually  he  grows  weary  of  the  hurry,  weary  of  al,:"  paint,  wear\  of 
unfinished    cities   and  just-begun    villages,  weary   of  ambitious   words    ami   daring   in'jics 


MACKINAC. 


281 


Arched  Rock  by  Moonlight. 


weary,  in  short,  of  the  soarinjj  Amtrican  eagle.  In  thi  mood,  after  gloomily  surveying 
Duncan  and  Sheboygan,  on  the  Michigan  shore,  the  elderly  traveller,  still  weary  with  the 
new,  is  suddenly  brought  face  to  face  with  the  old ;  for  in  the  straits  between  Lakes 
Huron   a.id    Michigan,  round    the   corner   of   Bois-Blanc   and   past  the  shoals   of   Round 


:[  i 


II  m 


383 


PICTURESQUE    AMERICA. 


Point,  lies  the  ar  ,ient  home  of  the  Giant  Fairies,  the  little  picturesque  island  of  Macki- 
nac,  venerable  with  the  memories  of  more  than  two  centuries. 

There  is  nothing  young  about  Mackinac,  nothing  new.  The  village,  at  the  foot  of 
the  cliff,  is  decayed  and  antiquated;  the  fort,  on  the  height  above,  is  white  and  crum- 
bling with  age ;  the  very  flag  is  tattered ;  and,  once  bej'ond  this  fringe  of  habitations 
around  the  port,  there  is  no  trace  of  the  white  man  on  the  island  save  one  farm-house 
of  the  last  century,  and  a  ruin  on  the  western  shore.  There  is  no  commercial  activity  at 
Mackinac ;  the  business  life  of  the  village  died  out  with  the  fur-trade ;  and  so  different  is 
its  aspect  from  that  of  the  other  lake-towns,  no  matter  how  small,  that  the  traveller  feels 
as  though  he  was  walking  through  the  streets  of  a  New-World  Pompeii. 

There  is  no  excitement  in  Mackinac,  no  news.  In  summer,  if  Huron  is  willing,  the 
Sarnia  boats  bring  the  mails  three  times  a  week ;  but  Saginaw  Bay  is  often  surly ;  blus- 
tering head-winds  lie  in  wait  behind  Thunder-Bay  Islands,  and  days  pass  without  a  letter 
or  paper.  In  winter  the  mails  are  carried  over  the  ice  on  dog-trains,  travelling  north- 
ward along  the  shores  of  Lake  H* -on,  and  striking  across  the  straits — pictures  of  arctic 
life  as  real  as  any  in  the  polar  regions.  But  even  this  means  of  communication  is  neces- 
sarily precarious,  and  spy-glasses  from  the  fort  often  sweep  the  horizon  for  weeks,  search- 
ing in  vain  for  the  wr'"ome  black  speck  in  the  white  distance.  Thus  isolated  in  the 
northern  waters,  the  "    does   not   enjoy  that  vivid   interest   in   passing   events  which 

this  age  of  steam  auu  electricity  has  evoked ;  neither  politics,  epidemics,  improvements, 
nor  religion,  disturb  its  lethargy.  Religion  has  lain  dormant  where  the  first  missionaries 
left  it ;  the  air  is  so  pure  that  no  one  dies  under  the  extreme  limit  of  the  term  allotted 
to  man ;  no  improvements  have  been  made  in  a  hundred  years ;  and,  as  to  politics,  if  the 
islanders  do  not  persist,  like  the  Pennsylvania  Dutchmen,  in  voting  for  General  Jackson, 
it  is  simply  because  they  have  only  got  as  far  down  the  list  as  Madison. 

The  history  of  Mackinac  (Mackinac,  or  Mackinaw,  \?.  an  abbreviation  of  the  full  title 
of  Michilimackinac,  which,  according  to  Lippincott's  "Gazetteer,"  should  be  pronounced 
Mish-il-e-mak' e-naw)  may  be  divided  into  three  periods — the  explorer's,  the  military,  and 
the  fur-trading.  The  first  period  embraces  the  early  voyages  of  Father  Marquette;  his 
college  for  the  education  of  Indian  youths,  established  on  the  straits  in  1671  ;  the  death 
of  the  explorer,  and  the  remarkable  funeral  procession  of  canoes,  which,  two  years  after- 
ward, brought  back  his  body,  from  its  first  burial-place  on  Lake  Michigan,  to  the  little 
mission  on  the  Straits  of  Mackinac,  which  in  life  he  loved  so  well.  Here,  in  1677,  his 
grave  was  made  by  his  Indian  converts ;  its  exact  site  was  lost  during  the  warfare  that 
followed,  but  it  was  in  the  neighborhood  of  the  little  church  whose  foundation  remains 
still  visible,  and  here  i';  is  proposed  to  erect  a  monument  to  his  memory. 

In  1679  the  darii.'g  explorer,  Robert  Cavalier  de  la  Salle,  sailed  through  the  straits 
on  his  way  to  the  Mississippi,  in  a  vessel  of  sixty  tons,  called  the  Griffm,  built  by  him- 
self, on    Lake    Erie,  during   the   previous   spring.      He  stopped  at  old  Mackinac,  on  the 


MACKINAC. 


283 


i  the  full  title 
le  pronounced 
!  military,  and 
^larquettc;  his 
71  ;  the  death 
o  years  after- 
,  to  the  little 
!,  in  1677,  his 
i  warfare  that 
ation  remains 


main-land;  and  Hennepin,  the  historian  of  the  expedition,  describes  the  astonishment  of 
the   Indians    on    seeing    the    Griffin,  the    first    vessel    that   passed   through    the    beautiful 

straits. 

In  1688   a   French   officer,  Baron  la  Houtan,  visited   the  straits,  and   in   his  journal 


.,e^^ 


^.'Z- 


Chimney  Rock. 

makes  the  first  mention  of  the  fur-trade  :  "  The  courricrs  dc  bois  have  a  settlement  here, 
this  being  the  depot  for  the  goods  obtained  from  the  south  and  west  savages,  for  they 
cannot  avoid  passing  this  way  when  they  go  to  the  seats  of  the  lUinese  and  the  Ouma- 
mis,  and  to  the  river  of  Mississippi." 


384 


PICTURESQUE   AMERICA. 


In  1695  the  military  period  bejrins.  At  that  date  M.  do  la  Mottc  Cadillac,  who 
afterward  founded  the  present  city  of  Detroit,  established  a  small  fort  on  the  stniiu 
Then  came  contests  and  skirmishes,  not  unminjjled  with  massacres  (for  the  Indians  were 
enlisted  on  both  sides),  and  fmally  the  post  of  Mackinac,  together  vith  all  the  I'rcnch 
strongholds  on  the  lakes,  was  surrendered  to  the  English,  in  September,   1761. 

In  1763  began  the  conspiracy  of  Fon»^iac,  wonderful  for  the  sagacity  with  which  it 
was  planned  and  tiie  vigor  with  wiiich  it  was  executed.  Pontiac,  the  most  rcniarkiible 
Indian  of  all  the  lake-tribes,  lived  on  Feche  Island,  near  Lake  St.  Clair.  He  was  a  firm 
friend  of  the  l"rencii,  and,  to  aid  their  cause,  he  arranged  a  simultaneous  attack  ujion  all 
the  Englisii  forts  in  tlie  lake-country,  nine  out  of  twelve  being  taken  by  surprise  ami 
destroyed,  and  among  them  the  little  post  on  the  Straits  of  Mackinac.  For  a  year  after 
the  massacre  no  soldiers  were  seen  in  these  regions ;  but,  a  treaty  of  peace  having  been 
made  with  tlie  Indians,  troops  were  again  sent  west  to  raise  the  English  Hag  in  its  old 
position. 

During   the  War   for   Independence   the   fort  was   established   in   its   present   site  on 
Mackinac   Island;   and  the  stars  and  stripes,  superseding  the  cross  of  St.  (»eorge  and  the 
lilies  of  the    Uourbons,  waved   for   a   time   peacefully  over   the    heights;  l)ut   tlie  War  of 
181 2  began,  and  tlie  small  American  garrison  was  surprised  and  captured  by  the    i?riii~h 
under   Captain    Robarts,  wlio,  having    landed    at    the    point    still    known    as   the   "  Hrilish 
Landing,"   inarched    across   the    island   to   the   gate   of  the    fort   and    forced    a    sunenikr 
After   the    victorv  of  Commodore    Perry,  on    Lake    Erie,  in    1813,  it  was   determined  to 
recapture    I'ort    Mackinac   from   I  lie    lirilish,  and  a  little  fleet  was   sent    from    Detroit  for 
that  purpose.     After  wandering  in  the  persistent  fogs  of  Lake  Huron,  the  vessels  reached 
the   straits,  and   a   brisk   engagement   began    in    the   channel,  between    Round   fsland  and 
Mackinac.     .At  length  the  American  commander  decided  to  try  a  land  attack,  and  furciv 
were   ;  Mit    on   shore,  under   command    of  Colonel    Croghan    and    Major    Holmes.     Thcv 
landed   at    tiie  "  IJritish    Landing,"  and  had   begun   to   cross   the   island   when   the   Ihiti'-li 
and  Indians  met  them,  and  a  desperate  battle  ensued   in  the  clearing  near  the   DouMiian 
farm-house.      The  enemy  had  the  advantage  of  position  and  numbers,  and,  ai»lcd  bv  ihi-ir 
innumerable  Indian  allies,  they  succeeded   in  defeating  the  gallant  little  band,  who  relnatd 
l()   llic  "Landing,"  leaving   a    number   killed    on    the    held,  among   them    Major   lliiliiu\ 
The   American    lleet    cruised   around    the    island    for   some  time,  but  "the  stars   in   iluii 
courses  fought  against  Siseia." 

As  far  back  as  1671,  Manpiette  had  noticed  and  described  the  currents  of  air  that 
disturb  the  navigation  of  the  stniits,  in  the  following  (luainl  terms:  "The  winds:  for  ihi- 
is  the  ceiMral  |)oint  bctweei  the  three  great  lakes  which  .surround  it,  and  which  seem 
incessantly  tossing  ball  at  each  other.  For  no  sooner  has  the  wind  ceased  blowinir  licmi 
Lake  Michigan,  than  Lake  Huron  hurls  back  the  gale  it  has  received;  and  Lake  Supi- 
rior,  in  its  turn,  sends  forth  its  bla.sts  from  another  (juarter;  and  thus  the  gaine   is  (oii- 


^mk 


MACKINAC. 


285 


■i  of  ail  tli.it 
nds:  for  iliis 

which  seem 
•lowinji  '""11 

Lake  vSiipc- 
amc   is  con- 


stantly  played  from  one  to  the  other."  The  chimsy  vessels  could  il(»  nothing  aRaiiist  the 
«iiuls  and  waves;  and  not  until  the  conclusion  of  peace,  in  1S14,  was  the  American  Ha^ 
afiiin  hoisted  over  the  (lihraltar  of  the  lakes. 

Points  on  the  Straits  of  Mackinac  In-gan  to  he  stations  for  the  fur-trade  as  enrly  as 


286 


PIC  rURESQ  UE    A  MERTCA . 


1688,  but  the  constant  warfare  of  the  mihtary  period  interfered  with  the  business,  In 
1809  John  Jacob  Astor  bought  out  the  existing  associations,  and  organized  the  An^rican 
Fur  Company,  with  a  capital  of  two  millions.  For  forty  years  this  company  monopolized 
the  fur-trade,  and  Mackinac  was  the  gayest  and  busiest  post  in  the  chain — the  great  cen- 
tral mart.  Here  were  the  supply-stores  for  the  outgoing  and  incoming  voyageurs,  and 
the  warehouses  for  the  goods  brought  from  New  York,  as  well  as  for  the  furs  from  the 
interior.  From  here  started  the  bateaux  on  their  long  journey  to  the  Northwest,  and 
here,  once  or  twice  a  year,  came  the  returned  voyageurs,  spending  their  gains  in  a  dav, 
with  the  gay  prodigality  of  their  race,  laughing,  singing,  and  dancing  with  the  prettv 
half-breed  girls,  and  then  away  into  the  wilderness  again.  The  old  buildings  of  the  Fur 
Company  form  a  large  portion  of  the  present  village  of  Mackinac.     The  warehouses  arc 


i|; 


>i*1 


Sugaf-Lo<i(  KtKk— iluut  bide). 


MACKINAC. 


287 


i 


Sugar- Loaf  K<Kk— (Wcsl  Side). 


for  the  most  part,  unused,  althoujjli  portions  of  sonic  of  them  arc  occupied  as  stores 
The  jircsent  Mclx'od  House,  an  hotel  on  the  norlli  street,  was  orijxinally  erected  as  . 
iMMtdinjj-house  for  the  company's  clerks,  in  1809.  These  were  Mackinac's  palmy  days; 
her  two  little  streets  were  crowded  with  peojjle,  and  her  warehouses  filled  with  merchan- 
liisc.  All  the  traffic  of  the  company  centred  here,  and  its  demands  necessitated  the 
presence  of  me;^  of  enerpv  and  enterprise,  some  of  the  oldest  and  best  husiness-men  of 
the  Eastern  cities  having  served  an  a|)prenticeship  in  the  little  I'rench  villa|u;e  under  the 
ditr.  Here,  also,  were  made  the  annual  Indian  payments,  when  the  neifihhorinp  tribes 
asMinhlcd  hy  thousands  on  the  island  to  receive  their  stipend. 

The  natural  scenery  of  MacVinac  is  charminp.     The  yeolopist  finds  mysteries  in  the 
masses  of  calcareous  ruck   di'iping  ut  unexpected  angles;  the  anti(iuarian  feasts  his  eyes 


»88 


PICrURESQUE    AMERICA. 


on  the  Druidical  circles  of  ancient  stones ;  the  inv^Rii  sits  on  the  cliff's  edge,  in  the  vivid 
sunshine,  and  breathes  in  the  buoyant  air  with  delight,  or  rides  slowly  over  the  old  milj. 
lary  roads,  with  the  spicery  of  cedars  and  juniper  alternating  with  the  fresh  forest-odors 
of  young  maples  and  beeches.  The  haunted  birches  abound,  and  on  the  crags  grow  the 
weird  larches,  beckoning  with  their  long  fingers — the  most  human  tree  of  all.  Bluebells, 
on  their  hair-like  stems,  swing  from  the  rocks,  fading  at  a  touch,  and  in  the  deep  woods 


^^-hMN^  ,.•— -vir^iu^ 


Lover*'  Lop. 


art  the  Indian  pipes,  but  the  ordinary  wild-llowers  are  not  to  be  found.  Over  tow.inl 
the  British  Landing  stand  the  Gothic  spires  of  the  blue-green  spruces,  and  now  and  I  hen 
an  Indian  trail  crosses  the  road,  worn  deep  by  the  feet  of  the  red-men,  when  flu-  1  .liiv 
Island  was  their  favorite  and  sacred  resort. 

The  Arch  Kock,  one  of  the  curiosities  of  Mackinac,  is  a  natural  bridge,  one  Imn- 
dred  and  forty-five  feet  high  by  less  than  three  feet  wide,  spanning  the  chasm  with  liiv 
grace.     This  arch  has  been  excavated  by  the  action  of  the  weather  on  a  pnyccting  ani^if 


MACKINAC. 


289 


,1. 


of  the  limestone  clilT.  The  beds'  fornVing  the  summit  of  the  arch  are  cut  off  from  di- 
rect connection  witii  the  main  rock  by  a  narrow  gorge  of  no  great  depth.  The  portion 
supporti  ig  the  arch  on  the  north  side,  and  the  curve  of  the  arch  itself,  are  comparatively 
fraffile,  and  cannot  long  resist  the  action  of  rains  and  frosts,  which  in  this  latitude,  and 
on  x  rock  thus  constituted,  produce  great  ravages  every  season.      The   arch   is    peculiarly 


)ver  touiinl 
)w  and  tlicM 
■n  the   1  .iliv 

:e,  one  him- 
;m  with  liry 
ecting  an<^k' 


"  lUliit  »on'»  Folly." 

iKMUtiful  when  silvered  with  the  ligiu  I'l  Hie  moon,  and  hence  on  moonlifiht  nights 
stringers  on  the  island  always  visit  it. 

Fairy  Arch  is  of  similar  formation  to  Arch  Rock,  and  lifts  from  the  sands  with  a 
>;i.Ke  and  beauty  that  justify  the  nanu-  bestowed  upon  it. 

The  Sugar-Loaf  is  a  conical  rock,  one  hundred  and  thirty-four  feet  high,  standing 
alone  in  hoary  majesty  in  the  midst  of  a  grassy  i)lain. 


290 


PICTURESQUE   AMERICA. 


The  Lovers'  Leap,  on  the  western  shore,  is  two  hundred  feet  high,  rising  from  the 
lake  like  a  rocky  column,  and  separated  from  the  adjoining  bank  by  a  deep  chasm.  The 
legend,  as  usual,  is  of  an  Indian  squaw,  who,  standing  on  the  rock,  waiting  and  watch- 
ing for  the  return  of  her  lover  from  battle,  saw  the  warriors  bringing  his  dead  body  to 
the  island,  and  in  her  grief  threw  herself  into  the  lake.  But,  as  a  bright  spirit  once 
ol)scrvcd,  "  One  gets  tired  of  thinking  of  all  the  girls  who  have  leaped ! "  and  enthusiasm 
Hags  over  a  heroine  whose  name  is  Mc-che-nc-mock-e-nung-o-nc-qua ! 

The  clifT  called  "  Robinson's  Folly  "  has  its  legend  also.  This  time  it  was  a  younjj 
officer  who  went  over ;  indeed,  there  may  have  been  half  a  dozen  of  them,  for  the  I'ollv 
was  a  summer-house  where  cigars  and  wine  helped  to  pass  away  the  long  summer  days, 
and  wlien  at  last  the  rock  crumbled  and  carried  them  over,  Robinson's  folly  was  com- 
plete, and  is  still  remembered,  although  it  was  finished  more  than  a  hundred  years  aj^o. 

Old  Fort  Holmes,  on  the  highest  point  of  the  island,  was  built  by  the  British  in 
181 2.  It  was  then  named  Fort  George,  but,  after  the  Americans  took  possession  of 
Mackinac,  it  was  renamed  after  the  gallant  Major  Holmes,  who  was  killed  in  the  battle 
on  Dousinan's  farm  the  preceding  year.  The  ruins  are  still  to  be  seen,  and  the  sur- 
veyor's station  on  the  summit  is  a  favorite  resort  for  summer  visitors,  as  the  view  of  the 
straits  is  superb. 

The  present  Fort  Mackinac  was  built  by  the  British  about  a  century  ago.  It  stands 
on  (lie  cliflT  overlooking  the  village,  and  its  stone-walls  and  block-houses  present  a  licild 
front  to  the  traveller  wearied  with  the  peaceful,  level  shores  of  the  fresh-water  seas. 
This  ancient  littk-  fort  lias  a  long  list  of  honored  names  among  its  records — veteran 
names  of  the  War  of  1S12,  well-known  names  of  the  Mexican  contest,  and  lovid,  la- 
mented names  of  the  War  for  the  Union.  It  has  always  been  a  favorite  station  aiiioni.' 
the  Western  posts,  and  many  sokliers  have  looked  back  with  loving  regret  as  tiic  lioat 
carried  them  away  from  the  beautiful  island. 

In  1823  a  Protestant  mission-school  for  Indian  ciiildren  was  built  upon  the  hcaii- 
tiiul  slope  at  tiie  eastern  end  of  Mackinac  village.  Tiiis  was  one  of  the  most,  if  nut 
the  most,  nourishing  of  the  Indian  schools  in  the  United  States,  containing,  at  om 
time,  (wo  hundred  scholars,  Indian  lK)ys  and  girls  gathered  from  all  the  lake-countrv  as 
far  west  as  the  Red  River  of  the  North.  The  idea  of  the  .school  originated  with  llu 
Kev.  Dr.  Morse,  father  of  the  inventor  of  the  telegraph,  who,  happening  to  visit  tlie 
island  in  1820,  noticed  the  lawless  life  of  the  fur-traders  and  voyagcurs,  and  the  liad 
elTeet  upon  the  half-civilized  Indians.  Returning  to  his  luistern  home,  he  deseril)cd 
what  he  had  seen  ;  public  interest  was  awakened,  money  liberally  contributetl,  ami  a 
school  and  church  built  under  the  care  of  the  American  Board  of  (Commissioners  for 
Foreign  Missions.  There  are  still  persons  living  in  tlie  Eastern  States  who  remcnilicr 
the  sanguine  expectations  regarding  this  school.  The  beautiful  island  was  to  be  e\ m- 
gclized,    Indian    ciiildren    were    to   be    Christianized,    educated,   and   sent     back   to  their 


MACKINAC. 


291 


homes,  each  one  a  missionary  bringing  good  tidings  to  the  people  who  sat  in  great 
darkness.  The  voyagcurs  and  traders  also  were  to  be  gathered  into  the  fold,  and  their 
haif-toigotten  religion  revived  and  trained  into  a  purer  and  more  vigorous  growtli.  The 
school  prospered  for  fifteen  years.  It  was  a  favorite  mission  at  the  East,  especially  in 
New  lingland,  and  zealous  teachers  gave  their  best  efforts  for  its  success.  The  mission 
was  eoiitinued  until  the  extinction  of  the  fur-trade,  the  removal  of  the  agency,  and  the 
gradual  diminution  of  the  Indians  in  the  vicinity  reduced  its  opporUmities  for  good. 

The  island  of  Mackinac  was  a  sacred  spot  to  the  Indians  of  the  lakes.  They 
believed  it  to  be  the  home  of  the  giant  fairies,  and  never  passed  its  shores  without 
stopping  to  offer  tribute  to  the  powerful  genii  who  guarded  the  straits.  Even  now 
there  is  a  vague  belief  among  the  remnants  of  the  tribes  that  these  mystic  beings  still 
reside  under  the  island,  and  sometimes  sally  forth  by  night  from   the  hill  below  the  fort. 

It  is  not  often  that  we  can  obtain  a  specimen  of  the  original  poetry  of  the  Indian 
race  before  intercourse  with  the  white  man  had  corrupted  its  simplicity.  Occasionally 
we  find  a  fragment.  Some  years  ago  an  aged  Indian  chieftain  left  his  Mackinac  home 
to  visit  some  of  his  tribe  in  the  Lake-Superior  country,  and,  as  he  sat  upon  the  deck 
of  the  steamer  in  the  clear  twilight  and  watched  the  outlines  of  the  ftiiry  island  grow- 
inpr  faint  in  the  distance,  the  old  man's  heart  broke  forth  in  the  following  apostrophe, 
wliieh  a  listener,  struck   by  its  beauty,  translated  and  transcribed  on  the  spot : 

"  Michilimackinac,  isle  of  the  clear,  deep-water  lake  !  how  soothing  it  is,  from  amidst 
the  smoke  of  my  opaivgnn,  to  trace  thy  blue  outlines  in  the  distance,  and  to  call  from 
memory  the  traditions  and  legends  of  thy  sacred  character!  How  holy  wast  thou  in  the 
eyes  of  our  Indian  seers!  Mow  pleasant  to  think  of  the  time  when  our  fathers  could 
sec  tlie  stillness  which  the  great  Manitou  shed  on  thy  waters,  and  hear  at  evening  the 
sound  of  thv  giant  fairies,  as  with  rapid  step  and  giddy  whirl  they  danced  upon  thy 
limestone  battlements!  Nothing  then  disturbed  them  save  the  chippering  of  birds  and 
the  rustling  of  the  silver-barked  birch.      Michilimackinac,  isle  of  the  deep  lake,  farewell!" 


«>v^5?^V3t|PN~*^  ' 


liuli.iii  llu[. 


OUR  GREAT  NATIONAL  PARK. 


THE    VALLEY    OF    THE    YELLOWSTONE. 


The    Yellowstone. 


I  "HE  Yellowstone  River,  one  of  tlie  tributaries  of  the  Missouri,  has  a  lonp,  dovious 
-■-  flow  of  thirteen  liundred  miles  ere  it  loses  its  waters  in  (hose  of  the  larper  stivani, 
Its  source  is  a  noble  lake,  situated  in  Wyominfj  Territory,  and  ncstlinp  amid  the  ^now- 
peaks  of  the  hiphest  mountain-range  in  the  country.  The  upper  course  of  the  river 
is  through  immense  cafions  and  gorges,  and  its  flow  is  often  marked  by  splendid  water- 
falls and  rapids,  presenting  at  various  points  some  of  the  most  remarkable  scenery  in  the 


OUR    GREAT   NATIONAL    PARK. 


293 


countr)'.  The  entire  region  about  its  source  is  volcanic,  and  abounds  in  boiling  springs, 
niud-v(i!canocs,  soda-springs,  sulphur-mountams,  and  geysers  the  marvels  of  which  outdo 
those  of  Iceland. 

Iliis   remarkable   area    has   recently  been  set  apart  by  Congress  for  a  great   national 


Map   of  (ho   ^'elIo\v■stonc    National    Park. 


park.  It  certainly  possesses  striking  characteristics  for  the  purpose  to  which  it  has  been 
ik'voted,  exhibiting  the  grand  and  magnificent  in  its  sno\v-cap|)C(l  mountains  and  dark 
canons,  the  pictures(]ue  in  its  splendid  water-falls  and  strangely-formed  rocks,  the  beautiful 
in  the  sylvan  shf)res  of  its  noble  lake,  and  tiic  phenomenal  in  its  geysers,  hot  springs,  and 
mountains  of  sulpiiur.  It  may  be  claimed  that  in  no  other  portion  of  the  globe  are 
tlurc  united  so  many  surprising  features — none  where  the  conditions  of  beauty  and   con- 


294 


PICTURESQUE   AMERICA. 


trast  are  so  calculated  to  delijjht  the  artist,  or  where  the  phenomena  are  so  abundani  for 
the  entertainment  and  instruction  of  the  student. 

It  is  a  magnificent  domain  in  its  proportions,  extending  nearly  sixty-five  miles  fron 
north  to  south,  and  fifty-five  miles  from  cast  to  west.  The  Yellowstone  Lake  lies  near 
the  southeasterly  corner  of  the  park,  the  Yellowstone  River  flowing  from  its  upper  Imun- 
dary,  and  running  almost  due  north.  The  lake  is  twenty-two  miles  in  length,  and  its 
average  widtii  from  ten  to  fifteen  miles.  Its  height  above  the  level  of  the  sea  is  seven 
thousand  feet,  while  its  basin  is  surrounded  by  mountains  reaching  an  altitude  of  over  ten 
thousand  feet,  the  peaks  of  which  are  covered  with  perpetual  snow.  Numerous  hot  sjtrings 
are  found  on  the  shores  of  the  lake,  and  also  along  the  banks  of  the  river.  About  liftecn 
miles  from  its  source,  the  river  takes  two  distinct,  precipitous  leaps,  known  as  tlie  I'ppcr 
and  the  Lower  Falls,  rnd  beyond  the  falls  cuts  its  way  through  an  immense  cafion,  the 
vertical  walls  of  which  reach,  at  places,  the  height  of  fifteen  hundred  feet.  Near  the 
western  boundary  of  the  park,  the  Madison,  an  imjjortant  tributary  of  the  Columbia, 
takes  its  risj ;  and  along  one  of  the  branches  of  this  river,  known  as  Fire-Hole  River,  art 
found  numerous  extraordinary  geysers,  some  of  whicii  throw  volumes  of  boiling  water  to 
a  height  exceeding  two  hundred  feet.  In  the  nortinvest  corner  of  the  park,  the  Gallatin, 
another  tributary  of  the  Columbia,  takes  its  rise. 

This  wonder-land  has  only  recently  been  explored.  For  years,  marvellous  siories 
have  been  rife  among  the  hunters  of  the  far  West  of  a  mysterious  country  in  tlu 
heart  of  the  Rocky  Mountains,  which  the  Indians  avoided  as  the  abode  of  the  evil 
spirits,  where  the  rumble  of  the  earthquake  is  frequently  heard,  where  great  jets  of 
steam  burst  through  the  earth,  where  volcanoes  throw  up  mud  instead  of  fire,  and 
where  a  river  flows  through  gorges  of  savage  grandeur ;  but  beyond  these  rumor?, 
often  apj)arently  absurd  exaggerations,  nothing  was  known  of  that  region.  An  exploring 
party,  under  Captain  Reynolds,  of  the  Unitetl  States  Engineer  Corps,  endeavored  to 
enter  the  Yellowstone  IJasin  in  1859,  by  way  of  the  VVind-River  Mountains,  at  the 
south,  but  failed  on  account  of  the  ruggedness  of  tlie  mountains  and  the  depth  of  the 
snow.  In  1870,  an  exploring  party  under  General  Washburn,  escorted  by  Lieutenant 
Doane,  of  the  United  States  Army,  succeeded  in  entering  tiie  valley ;  and  from  thi'^ 
source  the  ijublic  obtained  tiie  first  trustworthy  accounts  of  the  strange  land.  Imme- 
diately thereafter,  an  expedition,  under  sanction  of  Congress,  was  organized  by  tiie  Sec- 
retary of  the  Interior,  and  jilaced  in  tiie  charge  of  Professor  V.  \ .  Hayden,  United 
States  geologist;  wiiile,  at  the  same  time,  a  party  under  tiie  command  of  Lieutenr.nl 
Barlow,  of  the  United  States  Engineer  Corps,  ascended  the  Yellowstone,  and  liaversed 
the  greater  part  of  the  area  now  included  in  the  [lark.  Professor  Hayden's  expedition 
made  a  thorough  exploration  of  the  whole  region,  and  it  is  to  his  full  and  exhaustive 
report  to  Congress  that  we  are  indebted  for  an  accurate  detailed  knowledge  of  the 
strange  features  of  this  remarkable  land.     It  is  to  this  gentleman,  probably  more  than  lo 


OUR    GRJ-AT   NATIONAL    PARK. 


295 


anv  citlur  person,  that  we  arc  imk-btcd  for  the  iclc-a  of  converting  the  valley  into  a  na- 
tional I'iirk.  'liic  cx|)cdition,  however,  was  organized  by  the  Hon.  Columbus  Delano, 
Secrctiiry  of  the  Interior;  and  hence  we  may  attribute  the  successful  issue  of  the  noble 
conception  to  the  cooperation  of  the  secretary  with  the  pur|)oses  of  the  scientific  ex- 
plorers appointed  by  him.      From  the  interesting  pages  of   Professor  Hayden's  report  wc 


Canipti   of  llic    Yellowstone. 


iniinlv  draw  the  subjoini'd  particulars  of   the  romantic  wonders    of   our  imperial  pleasure- 
ymund  : 

THE    VKLI.OWSTOXK    BASIN. 

"The    Yellowstone    Hasin    proper,    in    which    the   greater   portion    of   the    interesting 
■scenery  and  wonders  is  located,  comprises  only  that   portion  enclosed  within   the  remark- 


29<3 


PICTURESQUE   ^IMERJCA. 


Gorge  of  the  Vellowstonc. 


able  ranges  of  mountains  which 
give    origin    to    the   waters  of 
the      Yellowstone      south     of 
Mount     Washburn     and    the 
Grand  Cafion.     The  ranjre  of 
which   Mount    Washburn  is  a 
conspicuous     peak     seems    to 
form    the    north   wall,   or  rim, 
extending  nearly  east  and  west 
across  the   Yellowstone,  and  it 
is  through  this  portion  of  the 
rim   that  the  river  has  cut  its 
channel,   forming    the    remark- 
able   falls   and   the    still    more 
wonderful  cafion.    The  area  of 
this  basin  is  about   forty  miles 
in   length.      From   the  summit 
of  Mount  Washburn   a  bird's- 
eye   view   of    the   entire    basin 
may     be    obtained,    with    the 
mountains    surrounding    it   on 
every  side,  without   any  appar- 
ent   break    in    the    rim.     This 
basin  has  been  called,  by  some 
travellers,  the  vast  crater  of  an 
ancient  volcano.      It   is  jiroba- 
ble  that  during  the  Pliocene  \k- 
riod  the  entire  country  drained 
by  the  sources  of  the  Yellow- 
stone   and    the    Columbia  was 
the  scene   of  as  great  volcanic 
activity  as  that  of  any  portion 
of    the    globe.      It    might    be 
called    one    vast    crater,    made 
up  of  thousands  of  smaller  vol- 
canic vents  and  fissures,  out  of 
which  the  fluid  interior  of  the 
earth,    fragments    of   rock,  and 
volcanic   dust,  were    poured   in 


$ 


t 


iinlimi 
reiiwii 
above 
j)eaks, 
I'ornicc 
the  p 
of  vo! 


S 


piprs 

lilUUll 

piiwe 
liniici 


OUR    GREAT   NATIONAL    PARK. 


297 


unlimit*^''  quantities.  Hundreds  of  the  nuclei  or  cores  of  these  volcanic  vents  are  now 
reniaiiiiii,;,^,  some  of  them  rising  to  a  height  of  ten  thousand  to  eleven  thousand  feet 
above  thi"  sea.  Mounts  Doane,  Langford,  Stevenson,  and  more  than  a  hundred  other 
peaks,  may  be  seen  from  any  high  point  on  either  side  of  the  basin,  each  of  whieli 
formed  a  centre  of  etfusicjn.  Indeed,  the  hot  springs  and  geysers  of  this  region,  at 
ihc  pivseiU  time,  are  nothing  more  than  the  closing  stages  of  that  wonderful  period 
of  volLanic   action    that    began   in    Tertiary   times.     In  other  words,  they  are  the  escape- 


column- Rucks. 


|ii|HS  or  vents  for  tliose  internal  fortes  whi 'h  once  weie  so  active,  but  aie  now  con- 
liiiually  dying  out.  The  evidence  is  clear  that,  ever  since  the  cessation  of  the  more 
piiwcrful  volcanic  forces,  these  springs  h.ve  acted  as  the  escape-pipes,  but  liivi-  con- 
tinued to  decline  down  to  (he  present  time,  and  will  do  so  in  the  future,  until  they 
ceii><e  entirely." 

rill-.    lAI.l.S    AND    thi:    C.RANl)    CMvfdN. 

"hut    Ihi    objects  of   the  divpest  inti  rest  in  this  ngion  are  the  falls    and    liu'    (iiand 
t  .ifmn.      I   will    attempt    to    convey  some  idea  bv    1  (teseriptitm,  but    it    is   t)nly  through 


\r^ 


298 


P/C  TURliSQ  UE    A  ME  RICA. 


the  eye  that  the  mind  can  gather  any  thing  like  an  adequate  conception  of  them.  As 
we  approached  the  margin  of  the  canon,  we  could  hear  the  suiipressed  roar  of  the  falls, 
resembling  distant  thunder.  The  two  falls  are  not  more  than  one-fourth  of  a  mile  apart. 
Above  the  Upper  Falls  the  Yellowstone  Hows  through  a  grassy,  meadow-like  valley,  with 
a  calm,  steady  current,  giving  no  warning,  until  very  near  the  falls,  that  it  is  aljout  to 
rush  over  a  precipice  one  hundred  and  forty  feet,  and  then,  within  a  quarter  of  a  mile, 
again  to  leap  down  a  distance  of  three  hundred  and  fifty  feet. 

"  But  no  language  can  do  justice  to  the  wonderful  grandeur  and  beauty  of  the 
caflon  below  the  Lower  Falls;  the  very  nearly  vertical  walls,  slightly  sloping  .down  to 
the  water's  edge  on  either  side,  so  that  from  the  summit  the  river  appears  like  a  thread 
of  silver  foaming  over  its  rocky  bottom ;  the  variegated  colors  of  the  sides,  yellow,  red, 
brown,  white,  all  intermixed  and  shading  into  each  other  ;  the  Gothic  columns  of  every 
form,  standing  out  from  the  sides  of  the  walls  with  greater  variety  and  more  striking 
colors  than  ever  adorned  a  work  of  human  art.  The  margins  of  the  cafion  on  either 
side  are  beautifully  fringed  with  pines.  In  some  places  the  walls  of  the  cafion  are  com- 
posed of  massive  basalt,  so  separated  by  the  jointage  as  to  look  like  irregular  mason- 
work  going  to  decay.  Here  and  there,  a  depression  in  the  surface  of  the  basalt  has  been 
subsequently  filled  u|)  by  the  more  modern  deposit,  and  the  horizontal  strata  of  sand- 
stone can  be  seen.  The  decomposition  and  the  colors  of  the  rocks  must  have  been  dui 
largely  to  hot  water  from  the  springs,  which  has  percolated  all  through,  giving  to  them 
the  present  variegated  and  unitpic  appearance. 

"  Standing  near  the  margin  of  the  Lower  Falls,  and  looking  down  t.ie  cation,  which 
looks  like  an  imiriense  chasm  or  cleft  in  the  basalt,  with  its  sides  twel\e  hundred  to 
fifteen  hundred  feet  high,  and  decorated  with  the  most  brilliant  colors  that  the  human 
eye  ever  saw,  willi  the  rocks  weathereil  into  aa  almost  unlimited  variety  of  forms,  with 
here  and  tliere  a  pine  sending  its  roots  into  the  clefts  on  the  sides  as  if  struggling  with 
a  sort  of  uncertain  success  to  maintain  an  existence — the  whole  i)resents  a  picture  th;it 
it  would  i)e  diHiciilt  to  surpass  in  Nature.  Mr.  Thomas  Moran,  a  celebrated  artist,  and 
noted  for  his  skill  as  a  colorist,  exclaimed,  witli  a  kind  of  regretful  enthusiasm,  that 
these  beautiful  tints  were  beyond  the  reach  of  human  art.  It  is  not  the  deptli  alone 
that  gives  such  an  impression  of  grandeur  to  the  mind,  but  it  is  also  the  pictuiesijue 
forms  and  coloring.  After  the  waters  of  the  ^'cllowstone  roll  over  the  up])er  desiiut, 
they  How  with  great  ra|)idity  over  the  a|)parently  Hat,  rocky  liottom,  which  spreads  (Hit 
to  nearly  double  its  width  above  the  falls,  and  continues  thus  until  near  the  Lower 
Falls,  when  the  channel  again  contracts,  and  the  waters  seem,  as  it  were,  to  gather 
themselves  into  one  compact  mass,  and  plunge  over  the  descent  of  liiree  hundred  nul 
fifty  feet  in  detached  drops  of  foam  as  white  as  snow ;  some  of  the  large  ghibuKs  i>l 
water  shoot  down  like  the  contents  of  an  ex|tl()deil  rocket.  It  is  a  sight  far  more  Wm- 
tiful  than,  though  not  so  grand  or  impressive  as,  that    of   Niagara    I'alls.      A   heavy  mist 


tlicni.  ,^s 
of  tlu-  falls, 
I  mile  apart. 

valley,  with 
is  about  to 
:r  of  a  mile, 

;auty  of  the 
ig  .down  to 
ike  a  thread 
yellow,  red, 
ns  of  every 
lore  striking 
1  on  either 
on  are  coni- 
ular  niason- 
lit  lias  been 
ta  of  sand- 
.'e  been  due 
ig   to   I  hem 

anon,  which 
liundreil  to 
the  luinian 
forms,  with 
gglint;:  with 
pietUH'  thai 
1  artist,  and 
Lisiasm,  that 
iepth  alone 
I)icture'-(|ue 
per  desei  nt, 
iprcads  (Hii 
the  Lower 
,  to  fiaijier 
luidreil  and 
jflobules  of 
more  bean- 
heavy  mist 


HJWEII       FAI,I.S 


J        i' 


Mm 


300 


PICTURESQUE  AMERICA. 


always  rises  from  the  water  at  the  foot  of  the  foils,  so  dense  tiiat  one  cannot  approach 
witliin  two  hundred  or  tliree  hundred  feet,  and  even  then  the  clothes  will  be  drcndied 
in  a  few  moments.  Upon  the  yellow,  nearly  vertical  wall  of  the  west  side,  the  mist 
mostly  falls ;  and  for  three  hundred  feet  from  the  bottom  the  wall  is  covered  with  a 
thick  mattinjr  of  mosses,  sedjjes,  grasses,  and  other  vegetation  of  the  most  vivid  \ixi^t\\ 
which  have  sent  tiieir  small  roots  into  the  softened  rocks,  and  are  nourished  by  the  cvir- 
ascending  spray.  At  the  base  and  (piite  high  up  on  the  sides  of  the  canon  arc  jircat 
quantities  of  talus,  and  through  the  fr.igments  of  rocks  and  decomposed  spring  deposits 
may  be  seen  the  horizontal  strata  of  breccia." 

TOWKR    CREEK. 


"Tower  Creek  rises  in  tiie  higii  divide  between  the  valleys  of  the  Missouri  and 
Yellowstone,  and  Hows  ai)out  ten  miles  through  a  canon  so  deep  and  gloomy  tiiat  it 
lias  verv  properly  earned  tiie  appellation  of  tiic  Devil's  Den.  As  we  gaze  from  the 
margin  down  into  the  depths  below,  the  little  stream,  as  it  rushes  foaming  over  the 
rocks,  seems  like  a  wiiite  thread,  while  on  the  sides  of  the  gorge  the  sombre  pinnacles 
rise  up  like  (lotbic  spires.  vVbout  two  hundred  yards  above  its  entrance  into  the  Vcl- 
iowstone,  the  stream  pours  over  an  abrupt  descent  of  one  hundred  and  iifty-six  feet, 
forming  one  of  the  most  beautiful  and  picturesque  falls  to  be  found  in  any  coiintn. 
The  Tower  Falls  are  about  two  hundred  and  sixty  feet  above  the  level  of  the  Villow- 
stone  at  the  junction,  and  they  are  surrounded  with  pinnacle-like  columns,  composed  of 
the  volcanic  breccia,  rising  fifty  feet  above  the  falls,  and  extending  down  to  the  foot 
standing  like  gioonly  sentinels  or  like  the  gigantic  pillars  at  the  entrance  of  some  grand 
temple.  Our  coidd  almost  imagine  that  the  idea  of  the  Clothic  style  of  architcctun-  had 
been  caught  from  such  carvings  of  Nature.  Immense  bowlders  of  basalt  and  gniiiiti 
here  obstruct  tiie  How  of  the  stream  above  and  below  tiie  falls;  and,  although,  so  far  a^ 
we  can  see,  tiie  gorge  seems  to  be  made  up  of  tiie  volcanic  cement,  yet  we  know  tiiai. 
in  the  loftier  niountains,  near  the  source  of  the  stream,  true  granitic  as  well  as  igneous 
rocks  prevail." 

VELLOWSTONK    LAKE. 

'On  the  3Sth  of  Julv  (1S71),"  says  Professor  Hayden,  "we  arrived  at  the  lake,  iml 
pitched  our  camp  on  the  northwest  shon',  in  a  beautiful  grassy  meadow  or  opening; 
among  the  dense  pines.  The  lake  l.iv  before  us,  a  vast  sheet  of  quiet  water,  of  a  nio'-t 
deficate  ultramarine  hur-.  one  of  the  most  beautiful  scenes  I  have  ever  beheld.  Tlu 
entire  party  were  filled  with  iiithusiastn.  The  great  object  of  all  our  labors  had  linii 
reached,  and  we  were  ampiv  paid  for  all  our  toils.  Such  a  vision  is  worth  a  lifetinu, 
and  only  one  of  such  marvellous  beautv  will  ever  greet  human  eyes.  I'Vom  whatever 
point  of  view  one  may  behold  it,  it  presents  a  unique  picture.     We  had  brought  up  ilie 


llu'  lake,  ;inil 
t'  or  opc'iiiiiir 
er,  of  a  nid'^i 
iK'hfld.  Ihr 
tors  liad  luin 
:h  a  lil't'linic, 
roni  wlialivci 
ou^ht  ii|>  I  lie 


;L1KI-S     l)N      IHE     YELLOWarONF.. 


1 

1 

j  ^ 


302 


PICTURESQUE    AMERICA. 


framework  of  a  boat,  twelve  feet  long  and  three  and  a  half  feet  wide,  which  we  covered 
with  stout  ducking,  well  tarred.  On  the  morning  of  the  29th,  Messrs.  Stevenson  and 
Elliott  started  across  the  lake  in  the  Anna,  the  first  boat  ever  launched  on  the  \'cllo\v. 
stone,  and  explored  the  nearest  island,  which  we  named  after  the  principal  assistant  of 
the  expedition,  who  was  undoubtedly  the  first  white  man  that  ever  placed  foot  upon  it. 
Our  little  bark,  whose  keel  was  the  first  to  plough  the  waters  of  the  most  beautiful  lake 
on  our  continent,  and  which  must  now  become  historical,  was  named  by  Mr.  Stevenson 
in  compliment  to  Miss  Anna  L.  Dawes,  the  amiable  daughter  of  Hon.  H.  L.  Dawes. 
My  whole  party  were  glad  to  manifest,  l)y  this  slight  tribute,  their  gratitude  to  tlic  dis- 
tinguished statesman,  whose  generous  sympathy  and  aid  had  contributed  so  much  toward 
securing  the  appropriation  which  enabled  them  to  explore  this  marvellous  region. 

"  Usually  in  the  morning  the  surface  of  the  lake  is  calm,  but,  toward  noon  and  after, 
the  waves  commence  to  roll,  and  tiie  vv'hite  caps  rise  high,  sometimes  four  or  five  feet, 
Our  little  boat  rode  the  waves  well ;  but,  when  a  strong  breeze  blew,  the  swell  was  too 
great,  and  we  could  only  venture  along  the  shore.  This  lake  is  about  twenty-two  miles 
in  lengtii  from  north  to  south,  and  an  average  of  ten  to  fifteen  miles  in  width  from 
east  to  west.  It  has  been  aptly  compared  to  the  human  hand ;  the  northern  portion 
would  constitute  the  palm,  while  the  southern  prolongations  or  arms  might  represent  the 
fingers.  There  are  some  of  the  most  i)euutiful  shore-lines  along  this  lake  that  1  evei 
saw.  Some  of  the  curves  are  as  perfect  as  if  drawn  by  the  hand  of  art.  Our  little  boat 
performed  most  excellent  service.  A  suitable  framework  was  fastened  in  the  stern^for 
the  lead  and  line,  and,  with  the  boat,  a  system  of  soundings  was  made  that  gave  a  vcrv 
fair  idea  of  the  average  depth  of  the  lake.  The  greatest  depth  discovered  was  three 
hundred  feet.  It  is  fed  by  the  snows  that  fall  upon  the  lofty  ranges  of  mountains  that 
surround  it  on  every  side.  The  water  of  the  lake  has  at  all  seasons  nearly  the  tempera- 
ture of  cold  spring-water.  The  most  accomplished  swimmer  could  live  but  a  short  time 
in  it ;  tiie  dangers  attending  the  navigation  of  such  a  lake  in  a  small  boat  are  tlKrcbv 
greatly  increased.  The  lake  abounds  in  salmon-trout,  and  is  visited  by  great  numbers  of 
wild-fowl. 

"We  adopted  tiie  plan  of  making  permanent  camps  at  different  points  around  the 
lake  wliilo  explorations  of  the  country  in  the  vicinity  were  made.  Our  second  c,ini|) 
was  pitched  at  the  hot  springs  on  the  southwest  arm.  This  position  commanded  one  of 
the  finest  views  of  the  lnk(>  and  it';  surroundings.  While  the  air  was  still,  scarcely  a 
ripple  could  be  seen  on  the  surliice,  and  the  varied  hues,  from  the  most  vivid  green 
shading  to  ultramarine,  presented  r  picture  that  would  have  stirred  the  enthusiasm  of 
the  most  fastidious  artist.  Sometimes,  in  the  latter  portion  of  the  day,  a  strong  wind 
would  arise,  arousing  this  calm  surface  into  waves  like  the  sea.  Near  our  camp  their  is 
a  thick  deposit  of  the  silica,  which  has  been  worn  by  the  waves  into  a  bluff  wall,  twen- 
ty-five  feet    high    above  the  water.     It    must    have   originally  extended    far   out    into   liic 


tmBsss 


OUR    GREAT   NATIONAL    PARK. 


303 


lake.  Tlie  belt  of  springs  at 
this  pliifL'  is  about  three  miles 
long  and  half  a  mile  wide. 
Tiie  (lci)osit  now  can  be  seen 
far  out  in  the  deeper  portions 
of  the  lake,  and  the  bubbles 
that  arise  to  the  surface  in  va- 
rious places  indicate  the  pres- 
ence, at  the  orifice,  of  a  hot 
spring  beneath.  Some  of  the 
funnel  -  shaped  craters  extend 
out  so  far  into  the  lake,  that 
the  members  of  our  party  stood 
upon  the  silicious  mound,  ex- 
tended the  rod  into  the  deeper 
waters,  and  caught  the  trout, 
and  cooked  them  in  the  boil- 
ing spring,  without  removing 
them  from  the  hook.  These 
orifices,  or  chimneys,  have  no 
connection  with  the  waters  of 
the  lake.  The  hot  fumes 
coming  up  through  fissures, 
extending  down  toward  the 
interior  of  the  earth,  are  con- 
fined within  the  walls  of  the 
oritice,  which  arc  mostly  circu- 
lar, and  beautifully  lined  with 
delicate  porcelain." 

THE    HOT    SPRINGS. 

"  Upon  tiie  west  side  of 
Gardiner's  River,  on  the  slope 
of  the  mountain,  is  one  of  the 
most  remarkable  groups  of  hot 
springs  in  the  world.  The 
springs  in  action  at  the  pres- 
ent time  are  not  very  numer- 
ous, or   even  so  wonderful  as 


'PP^Bi 


Tower  Creek. 


304 


PICTURESQUE    AMERICA. 


some  of  those  higher  up  in  the  Yellowstone  Valley  or  in  the  Fire-Mole  Basin,  l)iit  it  js 
in  the  remains  that  we  find  so  instructive  records  of  their  past  history.  The  cak  ircous 
deposits  from  these  springs  cover  an  area  of  about  two  miles  square,  'liie  active  si)rings 
extend  from  the  margin  of  the  river  five  thousand  five  hundred  and  forty-five  feet,  lo  an 
elevation  n^'arly  one  thousand  above,  or  six  thousand  five  hundred  and  twenty-two  feci 
above  the  sea  by  barometrical  measurement.  Our  path  led  up  the  hill  by  the  side  of  a 
wall  of  lower  cretaceous  rocks,  and  we  soon  came  to  the  most  abundant  remains  of  old 
springs,  which,  in  past  times,  must  liave  been  very  active.  The  steep  hill,  for  nearly  a  mile, 
is  covered  with  a  thick  crust,  and,  though  much  decomposed  and  covered  with  a  moder- 
ately thick  growth  of  pines  and  cedars,  still  bore  traces  of  the  same  wonderful  architectu- 
ral beauty  displayed  in  the  vicinity  of  the  active  springs  farther  up  the  hill.  After  ascend- 
ing the  side  of  the  mountain,  about  a  mile  above  the  channel  of  Gardiner's  River,  we 
suddenly  came  in  full  view  of  one  of  the  finest  displays  of  Nature's  architectural  skill  the 
world  can  produce.  The  snowy  whiteness  of  the  deposit  at  once  suggested  the  name  of 
\>'hite-Mountain  Mot  Spring,  It  had  the  appearance  of  a  frozen  cascade.  If  a  grouj)  of 
springs  near  the  summit  of  a  mountain  were  to  distribute  their  waters  down  the  irrcfjuiar 
declivities,  and  they  were  slowly  congealed,  the  picture  would  bear  some  resemblance  in 
form,  We  pitched  our  camp  at  the  foot  of  the  principal  mountain,  by  the  side  of  the 
stream  that  contained  the  aggregated  waters  of  the  hot  springs  above,  which,  by  tlu'  time 
they  had  reached  our  camp,  were  sufficiently  cooled  for  our  use.  Before  us  was  a  hill  tud 
hundred  feet  high,  composed  of  the  calcareous  deposit  of  the  hot  springs,  with  a  system 
of  step-like  terraces,  which  would  defy  any  description  by  words.  The  eye  alone  could 
convey  any  adetjuate  conception  to  the  mind.  The  steep  sides  of  the  hill  were  orna- 
mented with  a  series  of  semicircular  basins,  with  margins  varying  in  height  from  a  few 
inches  to  six  or  eight  feet,  and  so  beautifully  scalloped  and  adorned  with  a  kind  of 
bead-work,  that  the  beholder  stands  amazed  at  this  marvel  of  Nature's  handiwork.  Add 
to  this  a  snow-white  ground,  with  every  variety  of  shade,  of  scarlet,  green,  and  yellow, 
as  brilliant  as  the  brightest  of  our  aniline  dyes.  The  pools  or  basins  are  of  all  sizes, 
from  a  few  inches  to  six  or  eight  feet  in  diameter,  and  from  two  inches  to  two  fat 
deep.  As  the  water  flows  from  the  spring  over  the  mountain-side  from  one  basin  to 
another,  it  loses  continually  a  portion  of  its  heat,  and  tiie  bath"-  can  find  any  dtsinilde 
temperature.  .\t  I  lie  top  of  the  hill  there  is  a  broad,  flat  terrace,  covered  more  or  less 
with  these  basins,  one  hundred  and  fifty  to  two  hundred  yards  in  diameter,  and  niaiiy 
of  them  going  to  decay.  Here  we  find  the  largest,  finest,  and  most  active  s|)ring  of  the 
group  at  the  present  time.  The  largest  s|)ring  is  very  near  the  outer  margin  of  the  ter- 
race, and  is  twentv-fivc  hv  forly  feet  in  diameter,  the  water  so  |)erfectly  transparent  that 
one  can  look  f.V<\\\\  into  the  beautiful  ultramarine  depth  to  the  bottom  of  the  iMsiii, 
The  si<les  of  the  basin  are  ornamented  with  coral-lik-  forms,  with  a  great  varietx  of 
shades,  from   pure   white    to   a    bright    cream-yellow,  and   the    blue    sky,  reflected   in   ilu' 


TOWER     FALLS,     YELLOWSTONE    VALLEY. 


3o6 


PICTURESQUE    AMERICA. 


transparent  waters,  gives  an 
azure  tint  to  the  whole, 
wiiich  surpasses  all  art.    Un- 


derneath the   sides  of 


many 


of  these  pools  are  rows  of 
stalactites,  of  all  sizes,  many 
of  them  exquisitely  orna- 
mented, formed  by  the  drip. 
ping  of  the  water  over  thi 
margins  of  the  basins. 

"  On  the  west  side  of 
this  deposit,  about  one-third 
of  the  way  up  the  White 
Mountain  from  the  river 
and  teirace,  which  was  once 
the  theatre  of  many  active 
springs,  old  chimneys,  or 
craters,  are  scattered  tiiickly 
over  the  surface,  and  there 
are  several  large  holes  and 
fissures  leading  to  vast  cav- 
erns beneath  the  ciust.  The 
crust  gives  off  a  dull,  hollow- 
sound  beneath  the  tread,  and 
the  surface  gives  indistinct 
evidence  of  having  been 
adorned  with  the  beautiful 
pools  or  basins  just  de- 
scribed. As  we  pass  up  to 
the  base  of  the  principal 
terrace,  we  find  a  large  area 
covered  with  shallow  pools, 
some  of  them  contaiiiinj; 
water,  with  all  the  orna- 
mentations perfect,  while 
others  are  fast  going  to 
decay,  and  the  deconi])oscd 
sediment  is  as  white  as  snow. 
Upon   this   kind    of  sub-tcr- 


OUR    GREAT   NATIONAL    PARK. 


307 


race  is  a  remarkable  cone,  about  fifty  feet  in  height,  and  twenty  feet  in  diameter  at  the 
base.  From  its  form  we  gave  it  the  name  of  the  Liberty  Cap.  It  is  undoubtedly  the 
remains  of  an  extinct  geyser.  The  water  was  forced  up  with  considerable  power,  and 
|)robal)ly  without  intermission,  building  up  its  own  crater  until  the  pressure  beneath  was 
exhausted,  and  then  it  gradually  closed  itself  over  at  the  summit  and  perished.  No 
water  flows  from  it  at  the  present  time.  The  layers  of  lime  were  deposited  around  it 
like  the  layers  of  straw  on  a  thatched  roof,  or  hay  on  a  conical  stack. 

"The  entire  Yellowstone  Basin  is  covered  more  or  less  with  dead  and  dying  springs, 
but  tiicre  are  centres  or  groups  where  the  activity  is  greatest  at   the   present  time.     Be- 
low tlie   falls  there    is    an    extensive    area  covered  with    the  deposits  which  extend  from 
the  south  side  of  Mount  Washburn  across  the  Yellowstone  rim,  covering  an  area  of  ten 
or  fifteen  square    miles.     On   the  south  side    of  Mount  Washburn   there   is    quite    a    re- 
markable   group    of  active   springs.      They  are  evidently  diminishing   in   power,   but   the 
rims  all  around  reveal  the   most  powerful  manifestations  far  back  in  the   past.      Sulphur, 
copper,  alum,  and  soda,  cover  the  surface.     There  is  also  precipitated  around  the  borders 
of  some   of  the   mud-springs    a    white    efflorescence,  probably  nitrate    of  potash.      These 
springs   are    located  on    the   side    of  the  mountain  nearly  one  thousand   feet    above   the 
margin  of  the  cafion,  but    extend  along  into    the    level  portions  below.      In    the   imme- 
diate channel    of  the  river,  at   the    present    time,  there  are    very  few   springs,    and    these 
not  important.     A  few  small  steam-vents  can  be  observed    only  from  the   issue  of  small 
quantities  of  steam.     One  of  these  springs  was   bubbling  quite  briskly,  but    had   a   tem- 
perature of  only  one   hundred   degrees.      Extending   across    the    cailon    on   the    opposite 
side  of  the  Yellowstone,  interrupted  here   and   there,  this   group   of  springs  extends   for 
several  miles,  forming  one  of  the  largest  deposits  of  silica,  but  only  here  and    there  are 
there  signs    of   life.      Many  of  the  dead  springs  are  mere   basins,  with    a    thick    deposit 
of  iron  on  the  sides,  lining  the  channel  of  the  water  that  flows  from  them.     These  vary 
in  temperature  from  ninety-eight  to  one  hundred  and  twenty  degrees.     The  highest  tem- 
perature was  one  hundred  and   ninety-two  degrees.      Tlie  steam-vents  are  very  numerous, 
and  the   chimneys   are   lined  with  sulphur.      Where   the   crust   can    be  removed,  we  find 
the  under-side  lined  with  the  most  delicate  crystals  of  sulphur,  which  disappear  like  frost- 
work at   the   touch.     Still  there   is   a   considerable  amount   of  solid   amorphous   sulpliur. 
The  sulphur   and   the    iron,  with    the   vegetable   matter,  which    is   always   very  abundant 
about   the   springs,  give,  through   the   almost    infinite   variety  of  shades,  a   most   pleasing 
and  striking  picture." 

MUD-SPRINGS. 


"We  pitched  our  camp  on  the  shore  of  the  river,  near  the  Mud  Springs,  thirteen 
and  a  half  miles  above  our  camp  on  Cascade  Creek.  The  springs  are  scattered  along 
iin  both  sides  of  the  river,  sometimes   extending  upon  the  hill-sides  fifty  to  two  '.lundrcd 


3o8 


PICTURESQUE    AiMERICA. 


feet  al)ove  the  level  of  the  river.  Commencinti^  with  the  lower  or  southern  side  of  the 
group,  1  will  attempt  to  describe  a  few  of  them.  Tiie  first  one  is  a  remarkable  mud- 
spring,  with  a  well-defined  circular  rim  composed  of  fine  clay,  and  raised  about  four  fcei 
above  the  surface  around,  and  about  six  feet  above  the  mud  in  the  basin.  The  diameter 
of  the  basin  is  about  eight  feet.  The  mud  is  so  fine  as  to  be  impalpable,  and  the  whole 
may  be  most  aptly  compared  to  a  caldron  of  boiling  mush.  The  gas  is  constantly  escap- 
ing, throwing  up  the  mud  from  a  few  inches  to  si.x  feet  in  height  ;  and  there  is  no  doubt 
that  there  arc  times  when  it  is  hurled  out  ten    to    twenty  feet,  accumulating   arouiui  the 


The    First    Iloat   on   the    Vcllow»tunc. 


rim  of  (he  basin.  .About  twenty  yards  distant  from  the  miui-spring  just  described  is  a 
second  one,  .  ha  basin  nearly  circular,  forty  feet  in  diameter,  tl:e  water  si.x  or  eight  fiil 
below  the  margin  <.f  the  nm.  The  water  is  (|uite  turbid,  and  is  boiling  modeialilv. 
Small  springs  are  flowing  itito  it  from  the  south  side,  so  that  tlie  basin  forms  a  sort  of 
reservoir.  The  temperLiture.  in  some  portions  of  the  basin,  is  thus  lowered  to  ninttv- 
eight  degrees.  .Several  small  hot  springs  pour  tiieir  surplus  water  into  it,  the  tempi  ra- 
turcs  of  which  are  one  hundred  and  eighty,  one  hundred  and  seventy,  one  hundred  .iiid 
eight)-four,  and  one  hundred  and    fifty-five   degrees.     In    the    reservt»irs,  vvhca-    the  w.iid 


OUR    GREAT   NATIONAL    PARK. 


309 


boils  up  with  considerable  force,  the  temperature  is  only  ninety-six  deforces,  showing  that 
the  bubbling  was  due  to  the  escape  of  gas.  The  bubbles  stand  all  over  the  surface. 
About  twcnity  feet  from  the  last  is  a  smdl  mud-spring,  with  an  orifice  ten  inches  in 
diameter,  with  whitish-brown  mud,  one  hundred  and  eighty-two  degrees.  Another  basin 
near  the  last  has  two  orifices,  the  one  throwing  out  the  mud  with  a  dull  thud  about 
once  in  three  seconds,  spurting  the  mud  out  three  or  four  feet ;  the  other  is  content  to 
boil  up  quite  violently,  occasionally  throwing  the  mud  ten  to  twelvu  inches.  This  mud, 
whicli  iias  been  wrought  in  these  caldrons  for  perhaps  hundreds  of  years,  is  so  fine  and 
pure  that   the  manufacturer  of  porcelain-ware  would  go   into    ecstasy  at    the   sight.     The 


Hot-Spring  Cirne. 


cdiitents  of  many  of  the  s|)rings  arc  of  such  a  snowy  whiteness  that,  when  dried  in 
cakes  in  the  sun  or  by  a  fire,  they  resemble  the  finest  meerschaum  The  color  of  ;lu 
mud  depends  upon  the  superficial  deposits  which  cover  the  ground,  through  which  '» 
w.itii-^  of  the  springs  reach  llie  surface.  They  were  all  clear  luit  springs  originally,  per- 
haps geysers  even  ;  but  the  continual  ( aving-in  of  the  sides  has  pro''accd  a  sort  of  mud- 
pot,  exactly  the  same  as  the  process  of  preparing  a  kettle  <if  n\ush.  The  water  is  at 
first  clear  and  hot  ;  then  it  becomes  turbid  from  the  mingbng  of  the  lotm  t\n\\  around 
ilie  sides  (»f  the  orifice,  until,  by  continued  accessions  of  earth,  the  contends  of  the  basin 
IxTome  of  the  consistet  v  of  thick  mush,  and,  as  the  fjas  hursts  up  through  it,  the 
dull,  thud-like  noise  is  pnuliiccd.     F'-very  possible  variation  of  condition  of  the  contents  Is 


iio 


PIC  TURESQ UE    AMERICA. 


found,  fnim 
simple  milky  turliid- 
ncss  to  a  stiff  mortar 
On  the  cast  side  of 
the  Yellowstone,  close  tr 
the  margin  of  I  he  river 
are  a  few  turbid  and  mud  springs 
strongly  impregnated  with  alum.  Tin 
mud  Is  quite  yellow,  and  contains  much  sulphur.  This  we  called  a  mud-sulphur  spring 
The  basin  is  fifteen  bv  thirty  feet,  and  lias  three  centres  of  ebullition,  showing  ilial, 
deep  down  underneath  the  superficial  earth,  there  arc  three  separate  orihcey,  not  ron- 
nected  with  each  nthcr,  for  the  emission  of  heated  waters." 


Hot  .S|>llin;^ 


SULPinrR-MOUNTAIN    AND    MUD-VOl.CANO. 

From  Lieutenant  Barlow's  report  we  derive  the  following  description  of  a  sulphur 
mountain  near  Cascade  Creek,  and  of  a  mud-volcano  a  few  miles  distant:  "  Tow.in! 
the  western  verge  of  a  prairie  of  several  miles  in  extent,  above  the  Yellowstone  Fills, 
a  hiil  of  white  rock  was  discovered,  which,  upon  uivcstigation,  proved  to  be  anotlur  nl 
the  '  soda-mountains,'  as  they  arc  called  by  the  hunters.  Approaching  nearer,  I  found 
jets  of  smoke  and  steam  issuing  from  the  face  of  the  hill,  while  its  other  side  was 
hollowed  out  into  a  sort  )f  amphitheatre,  whose  sides  were  steaming  with  sulpimr- 
fumes,  the  ground  hot  and  parched  with  internal  fires.  .Acre  after  lure  of  this  hot  \  I 
canic  surface  lay  before  me,  having  numerous  cracks  md  small  apertures,  at  inlerv.il.  I 
a  few  feet,  whence  were  expelled,  sometinn-s  in  steadv,  continuous  streams,  .so/netimc-  n 


OUR    GREAT   NATIONAL    PARK. 


31' 


puffs,  like  those  from  an  engine,  jets  of  vapor  more  or  less  imprefrnated  with  mineral 
substances.  I  ascended  the  hill,  leaving  my  horse  below,  fearful  that  he  m'ght  break 
through  the  thin  rock-crust,  which  in  many  places  gave  way  beneath  the  tread,  revealing 
caverns  of  pure  crystallized  sulphur,  from  which  hot  fumes  were  sure  to  issue.  The 
crystals  were  very  fine,  but  too  frail  to  transport  without  tlie  greatest  care.  A  large 
boiling  spring,  emitting  strong  fumes  of  sulphur  and  sulphuretted  hydrogen,  not  at  all 
agreeable,  was  also  found.  The  water  from  ^his  spring,  overrunning  its  basin,  trickled 
down  tlie  hill-side,  leaving  a  highly-colored  trace  in  the  eiialky  rock.  Upon  the  oppo- 
site side  was  found  a  number  of  larger  springs.  One,  from  its  size  and  the  power  it 
displayed  in  throwing  water  to  the  height  of  several  feet  above  the  surface,  was  worthy 
of  notice.  Near  this  was  a  spring  having  regular  pulsations,  like  a  steam-engine,  giving 
(ill  large  quantities  of  steam,  which  would  issue  forth  with  the  roar  of  a  hurricane. 
This  was,  in  reality,  a  steam-volcano  ;  deep 
vibrations  in  the  subterraneous  caverns,  ex- 
tending fir  away  beneath  the  hill,  could  be 
^li'^tinclly  heard. 

"  The  country  from  this  point  to  thi' 
iinul-volcano,  a  few  miles  above,  was  most- 
Iv  rtiliing  prairie,  intersected  witli  several 
streams  Mowing  into  tlie  river,  some  of  them 
having  wide  estuaries  and  adjacent  swampy 
ilats,  covered  with  thick  marsh-grass. 
Ducks  were  usually  found  in  these 
skiggisli    streams,    as    well    as    in    the  . 

hitie    lakes    so    numerou.i    throughout 
this   whole    region.      V\'e    camped    on 
the  liiiik    of  the   river,  in    tlie    im- 
nuiii.iic  vicinity  of  the   nmd-geyser. 
This     being     the 
lir>t   specimen    of 
I  lie    true    geysers 
vet    sci'u,    it    was 
examined         with 
yrcai        curiosity, 
ihi   central   point 
ill    interest,    how- 


evi 


IS  the    inud- 
iiio,  which  has 


binkcn    out    from 


Ubcrlv^CAtk 


tI2 


PICTURESQUE    AMERICA. 


the  side  of  a  well-timbered  hill.  The  crater  is  twenty-five  feet  across  at  the  top, 
gradually  sloping  inward  to  the  bottom,  where  it  becomes  about  half  this  diameter. 
Its  depth  is  about  thirty  feet.  The  deposit  is  gray  mud,  nearly  pure  alumina,  and 
has  been  thrown  up  by  the  action  ot  the  volcano  at  no  very  distant  period.  The 
rim   of    the    crater  ou   the    down-hill    side   is  some   ten   feet   in    height,  and    trees  fifty 


feet  high  and  a  hundred  feet  distant  arc  loaded  with  mud  thrown  from  this  voh.ino. 
The  surface  of  the  bottom  is  in  a  constant  state  of  cltuilition,  puffing  and  llifiw 
ing  up  masses  of  boiling  mud,  and  sending  forth  dense  columns  of  steam  sevd  il 
hundred    feet   abov  " n  •  Muniing   forests.     This  vapor   can    l)e   seen    for   many  inilf^ 

in  all  direc^i  r  SotT!'.  fc .;  '^undred  yards  from  this  crater  are  three  large  Imi 
springs  of  muddy  'Aa-jr,  \»n'  J  w.  ich  proved  to  be  a  geyser,  having  periods  of  attiM 


iWi 


OUR    GREAT  NATIONAL    PARK. 


313 


eruption  about  every  six  hours.  The  phenomena  attending  these  eruptions  are  as  fol- 
lows: Soon  after  the  violent  period  passes,  the  water  in  the  pool  g'-adually  subsides 
througli  the  orifice  in  the  centre,  the  surface  falling  several  feet,  the  water  almost  en- 
tirely disappearing  from  sight.  It  then  gradually  rises  again  until  the  former  level  is 
rcac'  L'd,  during  which  occasional  ebullitions  of  greater  or  lesser  magnitude  occur.  Great 
airitatioii  then  ensues;  pulsations,  at  regular  intervals  of  a  few  seconds,  take  place,  at 
each  of  which  the  water  in  the  crater  is  elevated  higher  and  higher,  until,  finally,  after 
ten  minutes,  a  column  is  forced  up  to  the  height  of  thirty  or  forty  feet.  During  this 
period  waves  dash  against  the  sides  of  the  basin,  vast  clouds  of  steam  escape,  and  a 
noise  like  the  rumbling  of  an  earthquake  takes  place.  Suddenly,  after  about  fifteen  min- 
utes of  this  commotion,  the  waves  recede,  quiet  is  restored,  the  waters  sink  gradually  to 
their  lowest  limit,  from  which  they  soon  rise  again,  and  repeat  the  same  operation." 


Suda-Si.riugs. 


THE  GREAT  GEYSER  BASIN. 


We  also  quote  from  Lieutenant  Harlow's  report  the  following  account  of  the  great 
Geysers  ox\  Fire-Hole  River :  "  Entering  the  basin  from  the  north,  and  following  the 
banks  of  the  Fire-Mole  River,  whose  direction  there  is  ai)out  northeast,  a  series  of 
rapids,  <|uite  near  together,  is  encountered,  when  the  river  makes  a  sharp  bend  to  the 
southwest,  at  whicn  point  is  found  a  small  steam-jet  upon  the  right.  A  warm  stream 
comes  in  from  the  left,  falling  over  a  bank  ten  feet  in  height.  A  short  distance  beyond 
a  SL'cond  rapid  is  found,  and  then  another,  about  one  hundred  yard',  farther  on,  where 
the  y:ate  of  the  (ieyser  Hisin  is  entered.  Here,  on  citlicr  side  of  the  river,  are  two 
lively  geysers  called  the  Sentinels.  The  one  on  the  left  is  in  constant  agitation,  its 
'vaiLTS  revolving  horizontally  with  great  violence,  and  occasionally  spouting  upward  to 
the  height  of  twenty  feet,  the  lateral  direction  being  fifty  feet.  Enormous  masses  of 
sleam  arc  ejected.  The  crater  ol  this  geyser  is  three  feet  by  ten.  The  opjiosite  Sen- 
tiiiil  is  not  so  constantly  active,  and  is  smaller.  Tlie  rapids  h  are  two  hundred 
yards   in    length,    witli    a    fall   of  thirty    feet.     I-'ollowing    the    bank  of    Che    river,  whose 


THE     .  .IAN  1      ■  .liYSEIi 


OUR    GREAT   NATIONAL    PARK. 


3^5 


ireneral  course  is  from  the  southeast,  though  with  many  windings,  two  hundred  and  fifty 
yards  from  the  gate  we  reach  three  geysers  acting  in  concert.  When  in  full  action,  the 
display  from  these  is  very  fine.  The  waters  spread  out  in  the  shape  of  a  fan,  in  con- 
sequence of  which  they  have  been  named  the  Fan  Geysers.  A  plateau,  opposite  the 
latter,  contains  fifteen  hot  springs,  of  various  characteristics;  some  are  of  a  deep-blue 
color,  from  sulphate  of  copper  held  in  solution,  and  having  fanciful  caverns  distinctly 
visible  below  the  surface  of  the  water.  The  openings  at  the  surfLXcc  are  often  beautifully 
edged  with  delicately-wrought  fringes  of  scalloped  rock.  One  variety  deposits  a  red  or 
brown  leathery  substance,  partially  adhering  to  the  sides  and  bottom  of  the  cavern,  and 
waving  to  and  fro  in  the  water  like  plants.  The  size  of  these  springs  varies  from  five 
to  forty  feet  in  diameter.  One  hundred  yards  farther  up  the  east  side  of  the  stream  is 
found  a  double  geyser,  a  stream  from  one  of  its  orifices  playing  to  the  height  of  eighty 
or  ninety  feet,  emitting  large  volumes  of  steam.  From  the  formation  of  its  crater  it 
was  named  the  Well  Geyser.  Above  is  a  pine-swamp  of  cold  water,  opposite  which, 
and  just  above  the  plateau  previously  mentioned,  are  found  some  of  the  most  interest- 
ing and  beautiful  geysers  of  the  whole  basin. 

"  First  we  come  upon  two  smaller  geysers  near  a  large  spring  of  blue  water,  while 
a  few  vards  beyond  are  seen  the  walls  and  arches  of  the  Grotto.  This  is  an  exceed- 
inglv  intricate  formation,  eight  feet  in  height,  and  ninety  in  circumference.  It  is  hol- 
lowed into  fantastic  arches,  with  pillars  and  walls  of  almost  indescribable  variety.  This 
ijevser  plays  to  the  height  of  si.xty  feet  several  times  during  twenty-four  hours.  The 
water,  as  it  issues  from  its  numerous  apertures,  has  a  very  striking  and  picturesque 
effect. 

"  Near  the  Grotto  is  a  large  crater,  elevated  four  feet  above  the  surface  of  the  hill, 
having  a  rongii-shapcd  opening,  measuring  two  by  two  and  a  half  feet.  Two  hundred 
vards  farther  up  arc  two  very  fine  large  geysers,  between  which  and  the  Grotto  arc  two 
boiling  springs.  Proceeding  one  hundred  and  fifty  yards  farther,  and  passing  two  hot 
springs,  a  remarkable  group  of  geysers  is  discovered.  One  of  these  has  a  huge  crater 
hvf  feet  in  diameter,  shaped  something  like  the  base  of  a  horn  -one  side  broken  down — 
the  hifihest  point  being  fifteen  feet  above  the  mound  on  which  it  stands.  This  proved 
to  itf  a  tremendous  geyser,  which  has  i)een  called  rhe  Giant.  l»  throws  a  column  of 
water  the  size  of  the  opening  to  the  measured  altitude  of  one  hundred  and  thirty  feet, 
and  continues  the  display  for  an  hour  and  a  half  The  amount  of  wat<'r  discharged  was 
immense,  about  equal  in  quantity  to  that  in  the  river,  the  volume  of  which,  during  the 
eruption,  was  doubled.  But  one  eruption  of  this  geyser  was  observed  \\\  ^M.riod"c 
turns  were  not,  th-^'-ffore,  determiiv^ii.  ,\m«her  large  crater  close  by  has  seveval  orifiecs> 
and,  with   ten    small  jets   surr  _    it,  formid.  prr>bablv,  one    connoted   systrm,     llvj 

hil!   iiiiiU  up  by  this  group        ■  -  an  acre  of  gn>und,  and  is  thirty  feet  in  heighl." 


3i6 


PICTURESQUE   AMERICA. 


In  the  report  to  Congress  by  the  Committee  on  Public  Lands  we  learn  that  "the 
entire  area  comprised  within  the  limits  of  the  reservation  is  not  susceptible  of  cultiva- 
tion with  any  degree  of  certainty,  and  the  winters  would  be  too  severe  for  stock-raising, 
Whenever  the  altitude  of  the  mountain-districts  exceeds  six  thousand  feet  above  tide- 
water, their  settlement  becomes  problematical,  unless  there  are  valuable  mines  to  attract 
jjcoplc.  The  entire  area  within  the  limits  of  the  proposed  reservation  is  over  six  thou- 
sand feet  in  altitude ;  and  the  ^'ellowstone  Lake,  which  occupies  an  area  fifteen  by 
twenty-two  miles,  or  three  hundred  and  thirty  square  miles,  is  seven  thousand  four 
hundred  and  twenty-seven  feet.  The  ranges  of  mountains  that  hem  the  valleys  in  on 
every  side  rise  to  the  height  of  ten  thousand  and  twelve  thousand  feet,  and  are  cov- 
ered with  snow  all  the  year.  These  mountains  are  all  of  volcanic  origin,  and  it  is  not 
probable  that  any  mines  or  minerals  of  value  will  ever  be  found  there.  During  the 
months  of  June,  July,  and  August,  the  climate  is  pure  and  most  invigorating,  with 
scarcely  any  rain  or  storms  of  any  kind ;  but  the  thermometer  frequently  sinks  as  low- 
as  twenty-six  degrees.  There  is  frost  every  month  of  the  year."  These  statements  make 
it  evident  that,  in  setting  apart  this  area  "  as  a  great  national  park  and  pleasure-ground 
for  the  benefit  and  enjoyment  of  the  people,"  no  injur}-  has  been  done  to  other  interests. 
The  land  did  not  need  to  be  purchased,  but  simply  withdrawn  from  "settlement,  occu- 
pancy, or  sale;"  and  hence,  by  timely  action,  a  great  public  benefit  was  securetl,  which 
in  a  few  years  would  have  been  impracticable,  or  at  least  attainable  only  with  f>reat 
difficulty.  Tiic  time  is  not  distant,  in  the  opinion  of  the  Congressional  committee,  when 
tills  region  will  be  a  place  of  "resort  for  all  classes  of  people  from  all  portions  of  the 
globe."  The  Northern  Pacific  Railroad,  now  rapidly  advancing  toward  completion,  will 
render  the  park  easily  accessible;  and,  this  once  accomplished,  the  marvels  of  the  strange 
domai!i  will  tempt  the  curious  in  great  numbers  to  visit  it.  As  a  place  of  resort  for 
invalids,  the  Yellowstone  Valley,  on  account  of  its  pure  and  exhilarating  atmosphere,  is 
believed  to  be  unexcelled  by  any  portion  of  the  globe ;  and,  if  this  anticipation  prove 
true,  there  will  be  additional  reason  to  be  gratified  at  the  wise  forethought  which  secured 
it  for  public  u.ses  forever.  The  Congressional  enactment  which  creates  the  park  amply 
provides  for  its  control  and  management.  "  It  shall,"  says  the  act,  "  be  under  the 
exclusive  control  of  the  Secretary  of  the  Interior,  whose  duty  it  shall  be,  as  soon  as 
practicable,  to  make  and  publish  such  rules  and  regulations  as  he  may  deem  necessary  or 
proper  for  the  care  and  management  of  the  same.  Such  regulations  shall  provide  for  the 
preservation,  from  injury  or  spoliation,  of  all  timber,  mineral  deposits,  natural  curioshies,  oi 
wonders,  within  said  park.  The  secretary  may,  in  his  discretion,  grant  leases  for  build- 
ing-purposes, for  terms  not  exceeding  ten  years,  of  small  parcels  of  ground,  at  such 
places  in  said  park  as  shall  require  the  erection  of  buildings  for  the  accommodation  of 
visitors;  all  of  the  proceeds  of  said  leases  to  be  expended  under  his  direction  in  the 
management  of  the  same,  and  the  construction  of  roads  and  bridle-paths  therein." 


HARPER'S    FERRY. 


WITH      ILLUSTRATIONS      BY      GRANVILLE      PERKINS. 


A  FTER  a  short  but  heavy  rain  the 
■^  *■  air  was  fresh  and  bracing  on  the 
October  day  when  we  started  for  Har- 
per's Ferr)'.  There  is  no  season  so  glo- 
rious in  any  country  as  an  American 
autumn,  and  it  is,  above  all,  the  time  to 
see  the  mountains  to  the  best  advantage. 
The  atmosphere,  bright,  clear,  and  bracing, 
acts  upon  the  frame  like  champagne  ;  the 
forests  put  on  their  livery  of  splendid 
dyes,  and  gold  and  crimson  and  sober 
brown  are  massed  on  all  the  hills,  or  set 
in  a  dark  background  of  pine  and  hem- 
lock. For  this  reason,  seated  in  the  cars 
of  the  Baltimore  and  Ohio  I^ailroad,  and 
with  the  arriving  and  departing  trains 
making  discordant  noises  in  our 
ears,  we  congratulated  ourselves  on 
the    beauty    of    the    day.      Patiently 


3i8 


PICTURESQUE    AMERICA. 


waiting,  wc  watch  the  passengers  upon  the  platform,  uniting  and  dispersing,  aggrcfjating 
in  little  groups,  only  to  dissolve  and  form  again — a  cosmopolitan  scene,  for  hire  come, 
going  East,  West,  or  South,  representatives  of  all  nations.  We  soon,  however,  leave 
these  scenes  behind  us,  and  are  skirting  the  brick-fields  lying  on  the  western  suburbs 
of  Baltimore,  and  by  hillocks  covered  with  low  and  stunted  shrubbery  of  cedar  and  oak, 
past  the  Relay  and  on  to  Ellicott's  City,  where  may  be  seen  the  traces  of  the  great 
flood  in  the  Patapsco,  which,  in   1868  swept  away  the  mills  and  dwellings  in  the  valley. 

From  Ellicott's  City  the  road  winds  along  the  Patapsco,  and  only  leaves  that  pict- 
uresque,  artist-haunted  river  for  short  distimces  until  it  strikes  the  Potomac  at  Point  of 
Rocks,  and  follows  that  river  to  its  junction  with  the  Shenandoah  at  Uarjjcr's  Ferr)-, 
The  scenery  up  to  this  point  is  not  striking,  but  often  possesses  a  quiet  beauty  that 
well  repays  the  attention  of  the  traveller.  Glimpses  of  sequestered  woodland-paths  wind 
off  and  are  lost  in  the  forest ;  long,  tree-fringed  river-reaches  come  into  view  at  intervals 
as  the  engine  pursues  its  sinuous  course  by  the  river-bank,  in  full  sight  now  from  this 
side  of  the  t'-ain,  now  from  that,  its  polished  mountings  glittering  in  the  sunlight,  and 
all  its  heavy  and  seemingly  unwieldy  bulk  instinct  with  graceful  life  and  easy  power. 

Stretching  far  away  to  the  right,  dimly  outlined  in  their  characteristic  smoky  blut, 
appears  the  range  of  mountains,  nestled  in  a  gorge  of  which  the  gate-way  to  the  wild 
and  magnificent  scenes  beyond  lies  our  objective  point,  Harper's  Ferry.  As  we  approach, 
the  smoky  whiteness  of  the  enveloping  haze  is  dissipated,  and  gives  place  to  a  more  pro- 
nounced blue ;  the  billowy  hills  roll  more  sharply  clear  to  the  eye ;  the  irregular  lines  of 
the  foliage  stand  out  distinct,  and  here  and  there  shaggy  and  wind-dishevelled  pines  cut 
the  sky-line  upon  the  summit-ridge. 

The  first  near  sight  of  the  mountains  is  inevitably  one  of  disappointment.  Is  it  not 
thus  with  all  the  stupendous  works  of  Nature  ?  The  man  who  expects  to  stand  spell- 
bound and  awe-stricken  before  Niagara,  will  find  his  emotion  very  commonplace  in  con- 
trast to  the  exalted  state  of  feeling  he  anticipated.  Very  seldom,  indeed,  arc  the  com- 
binations such  as  to  present  these  scenes  in  all  their  impressive  grandeur ;  and  rarer  still 
is  the  mind  that  is  capable  of  comprehending  at  once  all  that  is  taught  by  them.  Vet 
those  who  have  been  merely  summer  sojourners  among  the  "eternal  hills,"  can  under- 
stand,  if  they  have  used  their  time  wisely,  why  the  mountaineer  comes  gradually  to  1'  vi 
them.  He  can  feel,  seeing  them  again,  the  force  of  the  attachment  that  animated,  thou- 
sands of  years  ago,  the  Hebrew  people,  whose  strong  places  of  defence  they  wen'  and 
that  animates  to-day  the  Switzer,  who,  far  awa)'  from  his  native  Alps,  grows  honu^ick, 
even  at  times  unto  death,  and  whose  eyes  are  tear-stained  whenever  he  hears  the  familiar 
"  Ranz  des  Vaches." 

The  imagination  at  first  may  refuse  tc  be  satisfied,  but  there  will  be  in  the  end  no 
sense  of  failure,  no  lack  of  fulfilment  of  all,  and  more  than  all,  that  was  anticipated  ; 
those  who   become   friends  with  the  mountains,  who  look  down   into  their  dwarfing  v.il- 


'  aggregating 
)r  luTf  come, 
owtncr,  leave 
5tern  suburbs 
;dar  and  oak, 
of  the  great 
1  the  valley, 
^es  that   pict- 

at  Point  of 
arper's  Ferr)'. 
;  beauty  that 
id-paths  wind 
V  at  intervals 
ow  from  this 
sunlight,  and 
;y  power. 

smoky  blue, 

to  the  wild 
we  approach, 

a  moie  pro- 
:ular  lines  of 
ed  pines  cut 

it.     Is  it  not 
stand  spell- 
)lace  in  con- 
ire  the  com- 
nd  rarer  still 
them.     Vet 
'  can   under- 
ially  to  \'\i 
mated,  tliou- 
2}'  were  and 
!S   homesick, 
the  familiar 

the  end  no 
iticipated  in 
Iwarfing  v.il- 


IMAGE  EVALUATION 
TEST  TARGET  (MT-3) 


1.0 


I.I 


1.25 


1^128 

■  50     "^ 


25 
2.2 

2.0 


m 


LA.  Ill  1.6 


d 


HiotogTdphic 

Sciences 
Corporation 


^ 


d 


,V 


^% 


^-"v 


v\ 


^\w^\ 


73  WIST  MAIN  STRUT 

WHSTIMN  r    14380 

(716)  •7*^-4103 


« 
^ 


^ 


^ 


320 


PICTURESQUE    AMERICA. 


leys,  who  wander  along  their  still  paths,  opening,  by  sudden  surprises,  laughing  cascades, 
and  odorous  with  the  resinous  pine  and  hemlock,  and  who  see  towering  far  above,  bear- 
ing up  their  massive  weight  of  greenery,  their  sheltering  forests.  Climb  the  Maivland 
Heights,  as  we  are  to  do  to-day,  and  pause  on  the  ascent  and  look  back.  Fair  and 
open  lies  the  northern  landscape,  bounded  by  its  semicircle  of  mountains.  How  ti^. 
mind  expands  and  feels  a  sense  of  delight  and  power  as  the  eye  takes  in,  at  one  sweep, 
the  glorious  scene  !  The  feeling  that  pictures  us  as  slowly  traversing  the  huge  moun- 
tains, insignificant  atoms  on  its  vast  surface,  ants  that  crawl  over  an  ant-hill,  vanishes. 
And  then  to  this  first  exhilaration,  this  flush  and  glow  of  pleasure,  succeeds  the  softer, 
ralmer  mood  that  sees,  in  the  still  and  marvellously  beautiful  vision,  but  one  of  the  least 
of  the  wonderful  works  of  the  Creator.     There  is  no  disa]ipointment  in  a  mountain. 

While  we  have  been  moralizing,  the  train  has  thundered  over  the  costly  and  grace- 
ful bridge  built  by  the  Baltimore  and  Ohio  Railroad  Company,  and  which  .spans  the 
Potomac,  on  five  substantial  stone  piers,  just  at  its  junction  with  the  Shenandoah.  When 
fairly  on  the  platform  and  the  train  has  left  the  view  unobstructed,  we  see  rising,  sheer 
and  inaccessible,  directly  before  us  the  rocky  sides  of  the  Maryland  Heights.  I  pon 
their  laminated  surface  the  curious  eye  ranges  among  the  overhanging  masses  of  pn)ject- 
ing  stone,  to  this  point  and  to  that,  in  search  of  the  v.ell-known  Profile  Rock,  !t 
catches,  jutting  out  from  a  crevice  in  the  wall-like  side,  a  mass  ol  .shrubbery — the  hair; 
a  littl"  lower  down  a  patch  of  stunted  bushes — the  epaulets;  glancing  then  a  little  tn 
liie  left,  the  imagination  (juickly  forms  the  features.  Curiosity  being  thus  satisfud,  we 
turn  to  the  foot  of  these  frowning  cliffs,  where  are  seen  the  slow,  languid  canal-lioats, 
almost  imperceptibly  in  motion,  crawling  into  the  lock  at  the  bridge,  and  vanishing  liy 
inches  around  the  mountain.  On  the  left  is  Bolivar  Heights,  and  below  them  is  the 
ruined  armory  at  the  ferry — a  long  row  of  walls,  windjwless,  rootless,  blackened  ami 
desolate,  l-'ar  up,  the  mountains  recede  and  become  low  hills,  and  close  in  upon  the 
rocky-islanded  Potomac,  which  comes  boldly  swee[)ing  down  past  the  town,  and  meets 
the   Shenandoah,  and   unites  with    it   on   its  way  to  the  (,'hesa|)eakc  and  the  ocean. 

A  brief  stroll  through  the  town  itself  will  furnish  many  items  of  anti(|uarian  iiiLrcM, 
and  will  also  bring  to  miiul  some  stirring  and  important  scenes  in  modern  history. 

Till'  town  of  Harper's  I'erry  is  built  at  the  foot  of  the  narrow  tongue  of  laiui  ih.il 
thrusts  itself  out  bUe  a  cutwater,  separating  the  Potomac  and  tiie  Shenandoah,  and 
known  as  Bolivar  Heights.  It  lies  in  JefFerson  County,  West  Virginia,  just  across  Uu 
Potomac  aie  the  Maryland  Heights,  in  W.ishington  ('ountv,  Maryland,  and  over  thi 
Shenandoah,  beyond  London  Heights,  lies  X'irginia  j)roper.  Including  the  liitle  town 
of  Bolivar,  on  the  heights,  the  population  of  Harper's  I'erry  is  about  two  thousand 
The  principal  street  runs  parilUl  with  the  Shenandoah,  with  a  si<le-stieet  ascendiiii.;  the 
hill  to  the  right,  perpendicular  to  which  numerous  stairs,  cut  in  the  solid  rock,  lead  up 
still  steeper  ascents. 


HARPER'S   FERRY. 


33t 


OiKiint  and  old-fashioned  in  its  best  estate,  two  causes  have  contributed  to  make 
the  town  still  more  sleepy  and  dilapidated  than  is  its  normal  condition.  The  recent  war 
stunned  it.  Then  came  the  disastrous  flood  of  October,  1870,  in  the  Shenandoah.  Pass 
wiicre  vou  will,  there  are  evidences  of  the  desolation  left  b'ihind  by  these  two  occur- 
rences. And  the  people  of  the  Ferry  have  very  naturally  lost  heart.  They  talk  about 
the  old  days  when  the  Shenandoah  ran  the  mills  and  the  <rovcrnment  rifle-works  on  its 
banks;  when  the  armory  was  in  busy  activity,  and  a  regiment  of  lusty  workmen  ham- 
mered and  rolled  and  moulded  the  arms  which  it  was  then  thought  would  never  be  used 


View   from   IcfTcrscin   Kock. 


except  against   foreign  foes;  when    manv  millions   of  solid   dollars— a  golden    I'actolus 
pound  into  the  arms  of  the   thriving  little  vilLtg'-   from   the  national   treasury.      The  in- 
h.iiiilants   now  talk   of  these   days   of  prosperity  with    regret,  with   even   a   mild   kind  of 
Impc  for  better  things  in  the  future,  but  with  no  buoyancy  of  spirit. 

The  place  takes  its  name  from  Robert  Harper,  a  native  of  Oxford,  luigl.nd,  who 
emigrated  to  this  country  in  1723.  Harper  settled  at  Philadelphia,  and  seems  to  have 
liirn  a  man  of  much  ingenuity.  At  this  time  (he  infant  colonies  wore  olTering  high 
priecs  to  skilled  workmen,  and  Harper,  being  by  profession  an  architect,  was  frecpienlly 
rciiuired  to  travel  to  distant  parts  of  the   coutitry.      It  was  when  on  his  way  to  ea'ct  a 


322 


PICTURESQUE    AMERICA. 


4II 


meeting-house  for  the  mem- 
bers of  the  Society  of 
Friends,  whose  scttkment, 
near  where  Winchester  now 
stands,  in  the  rich  Valky  of 
Virginia,  was  even  then,  in 
1747,  flourishing  and  increas- 
ing, that  Harper,  as  a  short 
route  to  his  destination,  first 
saw  this  pass.  He  was  so 
attracted  by  it  that  he  boujrht 
a  tract  of  land  here,  which 
was  subsequently  conlirnied 
to  him  by  Lord  Fairfiix.  hi 
time,  as  the  country  became 
more  settled,  and  the  passajie 
through  the  barrier  of  tlic 
Blue  Ridge  better  kiujuii, 
he  established  a  ferry  here. 
The  house  erected  by  Har- 
per, on  what  is  now  llif;li 
Street,  is  still  to  be  seen. 
In  outward  appear.uicc  it  i- 
one  of  the  newest  in  tlie 
town ;  and,  if  it  were  not 
for  the  semicircular,  latticed 
window  in  the  side  -  wall, 
wiiich  betrays  its  antiiiuitv, 
it  might,  like  a  well  pre- 
served old  beau,  iuild  its 
own  with  its  younger  coii- 
lemporaries,  and  diiiy  it^ 
years.  In  1794  the  prosper- 
ity of  Harper's  Ferry,  for 
half  a  century  ami  niitre, 
became  assured.  It  was  at 
that  date,  and  during  tin' 
administration  of  Citniral 
Washington,   that    llie    town. 


11* 


HARPER'S   FERRY. 


323 


on  account  of  the  many  ad- 
vantages it  offered,  but  more 
especially  for  its  unrivalled 
water-power,  was  chosen  as 
the  site  of  the  national  ar- 
mory. Land  was  purchased 
ahng  the  Potomac  and  Shen- 
andoah. Subsequently  Boli- 
var and  Loudon  Heights 
were  acquired,  and  the  build- 
ings of  the  armory  and  the 
dwellings  of  the  operatives 
gradually  formed  in  them- 
selves a  small  but  thriving 
settlement.  So  the  Ferry 
prospered  until  the  night  of 
Sunday,  October  16,  1859. 
From  that  night  the  town 
was  doomed.  Stealthily,  at 
ten  o'clock,  a  band  of  twenty 
men  crossed  the  railroad - 
bridge — then  a  clumsy,  cov- 
ered structure — over  the  Po- 
tomac. They  came  from  the 
Maryland  side.  Quietly  the 
watchmen  were  captured  and 
the  armory  seized.  They  at 
once  proceeded  to  establish 
and  fortify  themselves  against 
an  att.ick.  They  then  threw 
out  pickets,  and  arrested  all 
persons  who  ventured  abroad. 
A  colored  man,  who  incau- 
tiously api)roached  too  near 
the  guarded  railroad -bridge, 
was  shot  down  and  died 
soon  after.  At  the  dawn 
of  the  ne,\t  day,  as  the  sun 
struggled   through   the   rising 


324 


FIC TURESQUE    AMERICA. 


mists   of  the   river,  tiie   little   town    was   all   exeiteinent.      The    purpose   of  the    invaders, 
their  force,  the  prospect  of  other  attacks  by  fresii  bands  waiting  in  the  fastnesses  of  the 
mountains,  were  all  unknown,  and   added  the  element  of  mystery  to  the  actual  fact,  that 
was  but  too  patent,  that  a  lion  had  suildenly  pounced  on  their  sheepfold.      All  tliiough 
the  long  morning  a  scattered  fusillade  was  kept  up   between    the  armory  and  the  neigh- 
boring houses ;  and  the  sharp  crack  of  the  rille  from  the  overshadowing  hills  was  quicklv 
returned   from   some   one   of  the    barred  windon's   below.      Gradually  the   toils   tightened 
around  the  party  desperately  at  bay  in  the  armory.     Some  of  them  now  make  an  attempt 
to  break  through  the  meshes.     It  is  in  vain.     Take,  for  instance,  one  scene — a  mere  eteh- 
ing  amid  the  terrible  occurrences  of  the  day.     One  man,  Lehman  by  name,  threw  himseii 
into  the  Potomac  River  with  the  intention  of  escaping.     He  was  fired  upon,  was  wounded, 
raised  iiis  hand  as  if  to   surrender,  and    fell.      There  was   no   mercy.     A  rilleman  waded 
out  to  the  rock  where  the  wounded  man  lay — they  show  you  the  place  yet— and  deliber- 
ately put  his   rifle  to  his  head  and   blew  out  his  l)rains.      l-'igiiting  now  with  the  energy 
of  despnir,  Brown — for,  of  course,  it  is  of  the  celebrated  "Brown  raid"  that  we  are  sjjeak 
ing — now  retreated  to  the  engine-house,  the  only  building  of  the  whole  armory  wliieh  is 
still  standing.     Tiicro  he  remained   all  through  Tuesday  night  with   his  wounded  and  liiv 
prisoners.     It  was  a  sad  night  for  the  town  of  Harper's  Ferry — but  yesterday  so  (piitt  and 
peaceful,  now  with  the  elead  in  several  households,  and  the  fite  of  the  morrow  involved  in 
uncertainty.     It  had  rained  all  Monday.     The  night  wus  dark,  the  atmosphere  raw  and  eold. 
The  conflict  was   stayed,  but  the  hours  wore  away  in   unceasing  watchfulness.     At  seven 
on  Tuesilay  morning  help  came.     Colonel   Robert  E.  Lee  arrived  witii  a  force  of  marines, 
hastily  gathered   together,  and   dispatched    froin   Washington.      The    strong   doors   of  the 
engine-house  were   soon    battered    in,  and,  with   the   loss  of  one  man  killed,  the   invaders 
were  captured.     Brown  was  executed  at  Charlestown  soon  after — an  impolitic  proceeding, 
in  the  opinion  of  many  Southern  men.      So  ended  the  Ilar|)er's  I'crry  raid,  and  so  com- 
menced, in  reality,  our  civil  war.     During  that  conflict.  Harper's  I'Y-rry  was  alternatclv  in 
the  possession  of  the  Northern  and  Southern  Hirces,  and  suffered  from  i)olh.     When  the 
ordinance  of  secession  was  passed  by  the  \'irginia  Convention,  the   I'erry  was  the  station 
of  a   company  of   United    States   regulars,  uiuUr   the   cnmmaiul   of   a    Lieutenant   Jones, 
Rumors  came  as  thick   and  fast  as  leaves  from  \\\c  mountain  woods  in   November.    The 
\'itginia  militia  were  marching  to  capture  tiie  Ferry.      They  were  coming  up  the  \allev; 
tiiey  were  coming  d(uvn  the  Potomac;   ihcy  were  near  Bohvar ;   they  were  on   Mar\land 
Heights.      So  thieatening  was  the  aspect  of  aflairs  that  Lieutenant  Jones  was  ordered  tn 
retreat.     Then,  for  the  first  time,  the  torch — to  be  tiiereafter  the   instrument  of  so  mueh 
destructi(>n,    bitterness,   and    suflTering,   in    tiie    annals    of   the    village — was    applied.      The 
armory  was  fired.     The   smoke   of  tiie  burning   i)uil(lings   curled   up,  bh'ck   and   oinimms 
through   liie  still   air,  and  loud  detonations   shook    the   ground  as  the   explosive   mateiial 
stored  within   took   fire.     Much  of  liie   armory  was  then  saved  by  the  exertions  of  liie 


TUt    I'oioMAc    moM    mahviaNL)    heights. 


326 


PICTURESQUE   AMERICA. 


people  after  the  troops  had  departed.  The  aisenal  alone  was  completely  destroyed,  with 
about  fifteen  thousand  stand  of  arms.  On  the  night  of  the  iSth  of  April  the  Southern 
forces  came  in,  and  soon  Colonel  Thomas  J.  (Stonewall)  Jackson  assumed  command. 
The  machinery  in  the  workshops  was  taken  out  and  removed  to  Fayctteville,  North 
Carolina.  On  the  14th  of  the  following  June  the  Southern  forces,  then  under  the  com- 
mand  of  General  Joe  Johnston,  abandoned  the  Ferry,  as  of  no  strategic  importance. 
They  completed  the  destruction  already  begun.  The  railroad-bridge  was  blown  up,  and 
the  main  armory-buildings  fired.  By  this  time  the  town  was  nearly  deserted.  Many  of 
its  inhabitants  had  entered  the  armies  of  the  North  or  the  South ;  others  had  left  it  for 
more  pcui-oful  scenes.  The  few  that  remained  lived  almost  continually  within  the  sound 
of  the  cannon  and  the  rifle.  "  For  a  long  time  every  thing  that  moved  in  the  streets 
was  shot  at."  Field-glasses  swept  the  town  and  the  neighboring  Bolivar,  the  favorite 
scouting-ground  of  the  southern  side.  It  was  a  fearful  ordeal  to  the  few  citizens  who 
still  clung  to  the  Ferry,  as,  between  two  fires,  tb.ey  moved  uneasily  from  place  to  place. 

The  last  important  scene  that  closes  this  eventful  history  had  its  commencement  on 
the  5th  of  September,  1862,  when  Jackson's  corps  crossed  the  Potomac,  at  White's  Fcrr}', 
with  Lee's  army  of  invasion.  On  the  13th  Jackson  was  at  Harper's  Ferry,  McLaws  and 
Walker  were  on  Maryland  and  Loudon  Heights  respectively,  and  Colonel  Miles  was 
caught  in  an  untenable  position  on  Bolivar.  Here  the  record  of  the  civil  war,  as  regards 
the  Ferry,  rightly  stops.  McClellan,  after  Anlietam,  concentrated  his  army  here.  "The 
whole  peninsula  formed  by  the  Potomac  and  the  Shenandoah,  from  Smallwood's  Ridge 
to  the  junction  of  the  rivers,  as  well  as  the  surrounding  heights,  was  dotted  with  tents, 
and  at  night  was  aglow  with  thousands  of  watch-fires.  From  Camp  Hill — the  ridge 
that  divides  the  two  villages — the  spectacle  was  magnificent,  especially  at  night.  A  lium 
of  voices,  like  that  of  an  immense  city  or  the  hoarse  murmur  of  the  ocean,  rose  from 
the  valleys  on  either  side,  and  filled  the  air  with  a  confusion  of  sounds." 

This  brief  history  of  the  Ferry,  like  the  story  of  some  war-worn  veteran,  will  give 
an  interest  to  the  traces  left  by  the  tide  of  war  that  ebbed  and  flowed  over  and  around 
the  place. 

We  are  now  on  our  way  to  Jefferson's  Rock.  Perched  high  up  to  the  right  are 
the  bare  walls  of  the  Episcopal  and  Methodist  churches,  whose  joyous  bells,  in  other 
times,  aroused  the  echoes  of  the  mountains  on  the  calm  Sabbath,  while  the  worshipjiors 
wound  their  slow  way  up  the  steep  hill,  and  perhaps  paused  at  the  church-door  to  take 
a  last  look  at  the  glorious  scene  below,  the  wooded  heights,  the  shining  river,  the  sleep- 
ing town,  and  to  thank  God  that  their  little  home,  secure  among  its  sheltering  peaks, 
was  so  peaceful  and  unthreatened.  \\c  pass  by  the  side  of  the  Episcopal  church,  wiiidi, 
in  its  time,  must  have  been  an  imposing  structure.  We  scramble  over  the  rubbish  and 
look  in,  and  find  nil  foulness  and  polluticm.  The  four  bare  walls  are  open  to  the  sk\  ; 
the  windows  are  seamed  and  broken;   the  place  where  the  altar  stood  is  vacant,  and  tlie 


HARPER'S  FERRY. 


327 


marks  of  the  gallery-stairs  still  wind  their  way  upward  into  vacancy.  Every  trace  of 
wood-\v(jrk  has  vanished.  It  was  not  burned,  but  torn  away  gradually  in  the  mere  wan- 
ton riot  of  desecration  and  destruction. 

A  few  steps  farther  bring  us  to  Jefferson  Rock,  a  remarkable  stratified  formation  that 


in,  will  t,nvc 
and  around 


Mar, 'land  Heights. 


rists  abruptly  from  the  street  below.  It  is  the  pride  of  the  town,  and,  among  the  towns- 
people, is  almost  a  name  "to  conjure  by."  Upon  it,  according  to  one  account,  JciTer- 
son  inscribed  his  name;  other  authorities  say  that  it  was  here  that  he  wrote  his  "Notes 
on  X'irginia,"  "  in  answer  to  a  foreigner  of  distinction."  The  first  is,  of  course,  the  fact, 
and  the  other  the  accretion  that  time    has  added.      Mere  we   have  the  best  view  attain- 


n 


M-: 


328 


PICTURESQUE   AMERICA. 


able  of  tlic  mountains  from  their  base,  and  of  the  mcetinfr  of  the  waters  in  tliis  Vale 
of  Avoca.  Beyond  the  town  loom  up  the  Maryland  Heights ;  to  the  left,  Loudon 
frowns,  crowned  with  its  wealth  of  shaggy  foliage,  its  sides  seamed  with  innumerable 
fissures  and  dry  ravines  made  in  the  crumbling  rock  by  the  winter-torrents.  ^\t  the  foot 
of  these  ravines  the  loose  earth  and  gravel  washed  down  has  been  piled  in  hi<;h  and 
conical  heaps.  In  the  gap  between  these  two  mountains  the  Shenandoah,  which  comes 
down  with  many  a  curve  and  deflection,  skirting  the  Blue  Ridge  from  Bath  County, 
and  the  Potomac,  which  flows  south  from  the  table-lands  of  the  Allcghanies  and  divides 
the  water-shed  of  the  Ohio  River  and  the  Chesapeake  Bay,  unite.  How  the  opening 
through  which  their  waters  find  a  passage  was  formed  originally— whether  by  a  sudden 
rifting  apart  in  some  violent  struggle  of  Nature,  or  by  the  eating  away  of  the  barrier 
that  at  one  time  confined  here  a  great  interior  lake  having  its  outlet  by  the  k)\v  hills 
of  the  Susquehanna — is  a  question  for  the  geologist.  The  unscientific  spectator  will  have 
no  wish  to  indulge  in  dry  speculations  in  the  presence  of  the  scene  that  meets  his 
eyes  as  he  turns  at  the  Rock  and  follows  the  broad  river  through  the  rugged  gap, 
while  on  either  side  stand,  in  silent  guard,  the  Sentinel  Peaks.  There  is  no  grandeur  in 
the  scene — none  claimed  for  it.  Life,  brightness,  and  quiet  beauty,  distinguish  it.  Over 
the  Shenandoah  the  ferry-boat  turns  and  twists  among  the  bowlders,  and  seeks  the 
deeper  pools  and  the  slow  eddies  that  give  it  a  passage.  The  fair  river,  viewed  so  near, 
is  spread  out  between  wide,  enclosing  banks,  and  catches  the  silvery  glitter  of  the  sun- 
light and  the  dark  shadows  of  the  hills  on  its  ample  bosom,  dotted  with  the  l)hicic, 
obtruding  forms  of  rocks,  around  which  the  slow  current  chafes  gently  in  swirls  and 
circling  ripples.  Around  the  Maryland  Heights  run  both  the  railroad  and  the  canal, 
and  the  long  trains  and  the  unwieldy,  cabined,  awning-sheltered  boats  turn  the  foot  of 
the   ridge  at  intervals,  and  follow  the   sinuous  river,  ever  trending  southward. 

Before  visiting  Maryland  Heights  and  the  superb  panoramic  view  that  there  sweeps 
around  almost  from  horizon  to  horizon,  a  few  moments  will  be  well  spent  in  seeing  the 
less  striking  scenery  of  the  Heights  of  Bolivar.  Unless  the  traveller  be  a  remarkably 
good  pedestrian,  a  carriage  and  horses  will  have  to  be  procured  for  part  of  the  ascent 
of  the  former,  and  the  drive  around  Bolivar  over  a  good  read  can  easily  be  mwAc  ;i 
part  of  the  day's  programme.  If  dismayed  at  the  board-signs  that,  projecting  from  di- 
lapidated shanties,  announce  them  to  be  livery-stables,  he  express  doubts  as  to  procuring  a 
respectable  team,  he  forgets  one  thing — he  is  in  Virginia,  and  on  the  borders  of  the  \'al- 
ley.  The  man  that  is  surprised,  therefore,  to  see  a  pretty  woman  or  a  fine  horse  is 
strangely  unacquainted  with  the  latitude.  Our  landlord,  upon  being  consulted,  promises 
us  the  horses  in  a  moment,  and,  in  little  more  than  that  time,  they  are  at  the  door— a 
sorrel  of  mustang  blood,  and  the  prettiest  three-year-old  Black  Hawk  we  had  set  eyes 
upon  for  many  a  day.  The  road  around  Bolivar  is  the  segment  of  a  circle,  the  first 
part  of  which  lies  along  the  Shenandoah  and  the  unused    Slackwater  Canal,  bordered  l)y 


in  this  Vale 
left,  Loudon 
innumerable 
Al  the  fool 
in    hinli   aiij 

which   comes 

Batii    County, 

's  and  divides 

'  the   opeiiiiiij 

by  a   ;;iKldcn 

of  the   barrier 

tlie  low  hills 

ator  will  have 

hat    meets  his 

i    rugged  gap, 

o  grandeur  in 

uish  it.    Over 

nd    seeks  the 

iewed  so  near, 

2X  of  the  sun- 

ith   the   black, 

in   swirls  and 

md   the  canal, 

\   the   foot  of 

rd. 

t  there  sweeps 

in   seeing  the 

a   remarkably 

of  tlie   ascent 

ly  be   made  a 

:ting  from  di- 

to  procuring  a 

rs  of  the  \'al- 

fine    horse  is 

dted,  promises 

t    the  door   -a 

had   set   eyes 

:irclc,  the    first 

1,  bordered  l)y 


\ 


N 


M 


% 


HARPERS   FERRY. 


329 


The   Potomac  above    Harper's    Ferry. 


maJLStic  cotton-woods,  their  wide,  ^au'it,  flecked  branches  spreading  weirdly  over  the  dis- 
iniintled  Government  Rifle-Works,  the  empty,  crumbling  canal,  and  the  havoc  that  war 
ami  Hood  have  made  on  every  side.  Midway  of  the  ascent  of  the  hill,  the  scenery, 
looking  back  toward  the  Ferry,  is  soft  and  beautiful,  water  and  mountain  toned  by  dis- 
tance, and,  in  the  foreground,  the  long,  straggling  street  of  the  ancient  town.  As  we 
reach  the  top,  we  pass  the  remains  of  the  Federal  fortifications  and  the  deep,  bush-cov- 
crcd  valley  where  the  balloon  was  kept  secure  from  stray  shells.  Nearly  three  hundred 
houses  stood  upon  the  western  slope  of  these  heights,  and  now  hardly  a  trace  of  them 
remains.  From  here  we  get  a  nearer  and  less  elevated  view  of  Loudon  and  North 
Mountains  over  a  rich  and  well-tilled  farming  country.     We  return  through  the  neat  vil- 

4i) 


330 


PICTURESQUE    AMERICA. 


lage  of  Bolivar,  created  by  the  Armory.  Its  inhabitants,  since  its  abandonment  by  the 
Government,  still  are  loath  to  leave  their  homes,  and  find  on  canal  or  railroad  waivlerinfr 
livelihoods. 

With  a  sharp  deflection  to  the  left,  we  pass  through  Harper's  Ferry  and  over  the 
sounding  plank-roadway  of  the  railroad-bridge,  creaking  metallically  with  all  its  inter- 
woven iron  net-work.  Our  road  is  a  narrow  one,  leading  along  tiic  canal  and  past  tho  old 
ferry-house,  brooding  under  the  beetling  cliffs  that  overshadow  it.  As  we  looked  at  the 
placid,  sluggish  waters  by  vvhose  walled  margin  we  rode,  there  was  in  them  but  little 
suggestive  of  danger  or  of  the  tragic.  But,  as  we  heard  afterward,  at  a  spot  that  was 
then  pointed  out  to  us,  was  drowned  the  young  son  of  the  good  old  lady  at  whose 
house  we  were  to  stop. 

Turning  to  the  right,  tiic  ponies  tug  and  strain  up  the  steep  roadway  that  nscends 
the  mountain.  Under  the  overhanging  boughs  of  the  chestnut  and  the  oak  wc  go; 
over  tiny  rivulets,  and  w'''.<.  a  final  pull,  heavier  than  any  yet,  the  panting  horses  come 
to  a  willing  halt. 

"  Colonel   Unseld,  gentlemen." 

White-haired,  and  with  flowing,  white  beard,  slow  and  deliberate  of  speech,  as  .ue 
many  Virginians,  the  colonel  greets  u';. 

All  who  tale  carriages  must  stop  here,  and  make  the  ascert  from  this  point  on 
foot.  They  may,  therefore,  congratulate  themselves  tiiat  a  propitious  Providence  led 
Colonel  Unseld  to  select  this  spot  for  a  private  and  nv  st  hosj)itable  dwelling.  To 
those  who  rest  a  while  in  her  parlor,  Mrs,  Unseld — Scotch-Irish  by  descent,  with  the 
shrewdness  of  the  one  nation,  and  something  of  the  ready  wit  of  the  other — can  tell 
many  interesting  incidents  of  the  time  when  the  shells  whizzed  high  overhead  from  the 
stone  fort  on  the  summit,  and  the  yellow  flag  of  the  hospital  flew  over  her  homestead, 
and  in  this  very  parlor  lay  the  dead  and  dying.  Upon  hospitable  thoughts  intent,  Mr;. 
Unseld  placed  before  us  peaches  and  pe.irs,  both  of  which  ripen  late  at  this  elevation. 
She  was  sorry,  she  said,  but  her  "pears  this  year  were  like  the  politicians."  And,  truly. 
so  we  found  them.  They  were  outwardlv  sound  and  healthy,  and  some  fetv  did  not  lidie 
their  looks.  Take  up  one  at  random,  nowever,  and  the  chances  were  that  it  *vas  in- 
wardly rotten  from  the  core  to  the  rind. 

The  landscape  below,  seen  from  the  north  side  of  the  Heights,  tempts  us  to  linger 
a  moment,  an  1  then,  plunging  into  the  v.'oods,  we  begin  the  ascent  up  a  dry  ravine  that 
leads  directly  to  the  summit.  We  find  out  before  long  why  so  many  petsons  are  ecu- 
tent  with  the  tame  vicvvs  from  the  Ferry  itself.  Wc  have  been  over  other  mouiit;iins, 
bjt  the  steady,  knc'-breaking  climb  up  the  nearly  perpendicular  shoulder  of  iIim 
heights  is  the  hardest  piece  of  mountaineering  wc  ever  accomplished.  Heated,  in  spite 
of  the  cool  breeze  that   is  blowing,  and  fired,  wc  reach  at  last   thi    iiitimafc  ridge. 

"  Can  any  view  repay  such  exertion  ? " 


sjjcech,  as  ,ve 


HARPERS   FERRY. 


331 


"  S>;and  by  this  old  Hag-staff,  and  look." 
VVc  arc  answered. 

In  the  first  flush  of  any  deep  feeling  or 
great  and  sudden  surprise,  speech  is  taken 
away  from  most  persons.  We  trust  that 
none  who  read  these  lines  have  ever  witnessed 
an  execution,  hut,  if  they  havi',  they  must  have 
been  painfully  struck  'vith  the  simultaneous  and 
involuntary  movement,  the  shuddering,  audible  drawing  of  the  breath,  as  the  drop 
till.  it  is  with  pleasure  as  it  is  with  pain.  They  are  brothers,  though  the  out- 
witd  lesomblaiiee  be  so  slight.  The  long,  involuntary  exclamation  that  from  more 
th.m  0110  of  our  |)aity  testified  to  tiie  effect  of  the  interminable  stretch  of  valley 
and  hill  that  bewildered  while  it  delighted,  was  therefore  but  the  fitting  tribute  to  the 
niiL'iiificence  of  the  view  that,  as  we  touched  the  crowning  ridge,  burst  upon  us.  U  is 
i'l.uiliful  in  its  undulating,  wooucd  slopes,  its  cultivated  fields.  It  is  grand  in  its  moun- 
tains, huge,  and  black,  and  stately,  in  the  distance,  fading  and  melting  in  the  ha/e,  with 
solitary  peaks  jutting  b(>ldly  out,  breaking  the  ranges  as  far  as  the  eye  can  follow. 
Tlimugh  tiie  valley  between  flows  the  I'otomac,  curving  to  the  right,  then  deflecting  to 
the  left,  and,  with  a    lung  stretch  by   the  base  of  intruding  hills,   lost    ni   sight,  only  to 


332 


PICTURESQUE  AMERICA. 


I 


reappear,  for  the  last  time,  a  gleaming  mass  in  the  brown,  blended  landseape.  Loudon 
Heights  lie  on  the  other  side  of  the  river,  and  beyond  is  the  rich  Quaker  settlement 
of  Loudon  County,  that  blessed  spot,  where  the  land  drops  fatness,  and  poverty  is  said 
to  be  unknown.  We  look  down  upon  the  broken  outlines  of  the  Short  Hills,  half  con- 
cealed from  view,  in  which  lies  Lovettsville  Valley,  and,  on  the  other  side,  the  Vallev 
of  the  Shenandoah.  At  our  feet  are  the  fertile  farms,  the  tree-embosomed  liouse ;,  the 
symmetrical  orchards,  and  the  brown,  harvested  fields  of  Pleasant  Valley.  VVe  arc  at  an 
elevation  of  thirteen  hundred  feet.  At  our  side  is  the  old  flag-staff  erected  by  the 
Coast  Survey  when  they  fell  back  to  this  point  to  gain  some  necessary  bearinfrs  for 
the  map  of  the  Atlantic  coast-line.  All  around  are  scattered  the  ruins  of  the  war.  At 
that  time  the  whole  apex  was  bared  of  its  trees,  and  the  old  height  lifted  its  head,  a 
very  monk  among  mountains,  with  a  shaven  crown  and  a  narrow  belt  of  timber  niidwav 
of  the  summit.  But  the  earth  hastens  ever  to  hide  the  scars  made  on  her  bosom.  A 
sturdy  and  dense  growth  of  shrubbery  now  protects  this  space,  save  where,  around  tlu 
flag-staff  and  the  Old  Stone  Fort,  the  stone  foundations  and  the  scattered  rocks  that 
composed  the  walls  show  how  the  soldiers  encamped  here  endeavored  to  shelter  them- 
selves from  the  biting  winds  of  winter. 

The  broad  rampart  of  the  Old   Stone  Fort  now  forms  an  excellent  post  of  oliscrva 
tion.      From   it  the   view  is  unobstructed,   except    where   the   Blue    Ridge,   throwing  out 
spurs   here    and    there,   mountain    linked   to  mountain   in    endless   variety  of  heiglit  and 
shape,   rises   and   divides    valley  from  valley.      This    Blue    Ridge   has   another   peculiarit\ 
besides   the   soft,  enveloping,  distinctive  color  from  which   it  takes   its  name.     It  is  not  ,i 
continued    line,  but    a   series    of  inounfain-ranges    pocketed    into   each    other.      First   oni 
mountain  will  take  up  the  elevation  f(^r  ten  or  twenty  miles,  and  then,  in  its  turn,  sonu 
detached  height  will  continue   the   broken   chain,  only  to  give  place  to  a  third,  and   thi- 
to   oth'TS,  before  the  Susquehanna  is  reached.      All  along   its   course  it  forms   the   diviil 
ing-line  of   States   and    counties.      From  these    heights  we    look,  for    instance,  into  scvin 
counties — Jefferson,  Loudon,  Frederick,  Fauquier,  and    Clarke,  in   X'irgiiiia,  and    I'ndciiik 
and    Wasiiington    Counties,   in    Maryland  ;   and    into   three    .States — X'irginia,    Wesi    \  ii 
ginia,  and    Maryland.     Through   all    the    scene    the    eye   traces   the    I'otomae,  entering  at 
the  north,  and    flowing  southeast  ;   the  white  houses  of  the  scattered   towns,  Martiiisluir;.' 
Shepherdstown,  Knoxville,  Ikrlin,    Hagerstown,  and,  on    a    clear   day,  following   tlu    nnul 
that  winds  over   the  hills — a   yellow,  wavv  ribbon,  now  seen,  now   lost — ChailesI  >\vii   and 
Winchester.      The    horizon    is   bounded,   to    tlie    north    and    west,    by    the     Loudon     uid 
North  Mountains,  enveloped    in  a  haze  of  smoky  whiteness;  and  cultivated  fields,  (lirck- 
ered  with  square  blocks  of  forest  left  for  timber,  lie  as  if   in  the    hollow  trougii  ol   two 
immense  billows,  whose  crests  are  these  swelling  undulations  of  the  land.     The  i'otoni.n, 
coursing   through   sunlight   or   shade,   adds  beauty,   and   life,   and   changcableness.     linn' 
would  be  a  sombrencss  in  the  view  that  would  detract   much  from  its  attractiveness  with- 


•e-     Loudon 
\r  settlement 
'verty  is  said 
fills,  half  ccn- 
'.  the  \-allev 
'lousc,;,  the 
|Vc  are  at  an 
;cte(l    by  the 
bcariiifrs  for 
|hc    war.    At 
1  its   head,  a 
nl>i'r  niidwav 
r  hosoin.    A 
I  around  the 
(1   rocks  that 
shelter  thcm- 

t  of  ohserva- 
hrowiiiR  oui 
f  heijflu   and 
-r   peculiaritv 
It  is  not  a 
I'irst   on<' 
s  turn,  sonic 
ird,  and  this 
s    the   (livid- 
',  into   seven 
id    I'redcrick 
Wesr    \ir- 
,  eiilerinif  at 
Martinsliurji, 
i.U    tli<'    load 
lestiwn   :ind 
.oudon    .ind 
elds,  elicek- 
J^h  of  l\V(p 
e  I'oloinae, 
ess.     There 
'eness  with- 


01.0     UMIUUb.     AND     MILU,     ANTIEIAM     -AN  I  III  AM      HOLLtNU.MIL-L..-  UUHNSI UB     BRIDOE, 


334 


PICTURESQUE   AMERICA. 


I:;! 


lv:l 


out  this  beautiful  river.  Some  one  has  said  that  a  fire  is  cheerful  because  it  is  a  live 
thing  in  a  dead  room.  So  a  river  is  alive,  ever  flowing,  and  ever  changing.  It  is  to  a 
level  landscape  what  the  eye  is  to  the  human  countenance — it  lights  it  up,  and  gives 
it  expression. 

Through  all  this  sweep  of  vision  there  arc  no  signs  of  the  ruin  that  war  brought 
upon  the  fair  Valley  of  Virginia.  The  once  fenceless  farms  are  again  broken  here  and 
there  into  fields  and  pastures.  Though  General  Sheridan  boasted  that  x  crow  Hying 
over  this  region  would  have  to  carry  its  rations  in  its  beak — and  the  boast  came  very 
near  being  fulfilled — bounteous  harvests  and  well-stocked  barns  now  testify  to  the  thrift 
and  energy  of  the  people.  The  towns  have  suffered,  and  still  show  the  marks  of  the 
devastation,  but  the  open  country  is  still  the  same  as  before  the  armies  marched  and 
countermarched  with  destructive  tread  over  its  surface.  What  man  has  builded,  man 
has  destroyed,  and,  in  many  cases,  utterly  ;  but  the  fair  and  smiling  fields  are  as  eternal 
as  the  mountains  that  shelter  and  protect  them. 

Reluctantly  we  leave  our  breezy  station,  and  descend  by  the  longer  way  around  the 
shoulder  of  the  ridge  overlooking  the  Ferry.  A  few  moments'  rest  at  the  hospitalilc 
home  of  Colonel  Unscld  ;  then  down  the  steep  and  tortuous  road  at  a  rattling  pace ; 
along  the  still  waters  of  the  canal,  looked  at  now  with  a  new,  shuddering  interest  as 
we  think  and  speak  of  the  tragedy  that  has  happened  in  them  ;  by  the  Potomac, 
where  Lehman  was  shot  ;  over  tiie  bridge,  with  thoughts  full  of  the  l)eauties  of  moun- 
tain and  river,  and  a  longing  like  that  which  draws  a  lover  to  his  lady's  side,  to  sec 
them  all  once  again. 

The  evening  falls  among  the  mountains,  calm  and  peaceful.  The  huge  shadows  of 
the  dusky  heights  overcast  the  town  and  river.  If  it  is  in  the  season — for  artists,  like 
migratory  birds,  have  their  tiine  for  appearing  in  different  places,  and  for  disappearing— 
some  wandering  artist  from  Baltimore,  W'asiiington,  or,  in  rarer  cases.  New  York,  may 
stroll  in  witii  sketching-portfolio  and  camp-stool,  and  exhibit  to  the  wondering  natives 
the  counterfeit  presentment  of  familiar  scenes. 

The  night  darkens,  and  the  Ferry  jiuts  on  another  aspect,  both  novel  and  singu- 
larly beautiful.  The  mountains,  dimly  seen,  close  in  upon  the  murmuring  river  and  the 
quiet  town.  They  rise,  still  sombre  and  black,  unrelieved  by  a  single  gleam  of  liglit, 
and  shut  out  the  sky,  except  immediately  overheail,  or .  where  the  long  reach  of  the 
river  has  made  a  i)roak  in  their  continuity,  which  the  eye  follows,  and  down  which  I  lie 
twinkling  stars,  reflected  in  the  water,  glitter  brightly.  Along  the  foot  of  the  Maryland 
I  leights,  l)right,  golden-rayed  lights  creep  in  slow  motion.  They  are  those  that  show  thi 
path  of  the  innumeral)le  l)oats  that  convey  the  freight  of  the  (Chesapeake  and  Ohio  Canal 
— that  old,  expensive,  \m\  until  lately  unremunerativc  work  of  internal  improvement,  be- 
gun under  the  auspices  of  Washington,  and  laboriously  pushed  to  completion.  Occasion- 
ally a  skiff  crosses  the  Potomac,  its  lamp  casting  a  long,  flashing,  illuminated  path   before 


HARPERS   FERRY. 


335 


it,  Over  the  bridge,  and  where  the  perpendicular,  barred,  and  veined  rocks  of  the  Maryland 
Heijilits  come  down  to  the  river,  the  red  signals  that  denote  the  coming  of  a  train 
suddenly  appear,  and  presently,  with  a  rumble  and  jar  across  the  bridge,  the  loaded  cars 
slacken  speed,  stop  a  moment,  and  take  up  their  usual  hurrying,  anxious,  noisy  crowd 
of  passengers,  many  of  whom  have  come  by  the  Winchester  and  Potomac  road,  which 
connects  here.  Mothers,  who  have  been  sitting,  the  very  images  of  patience,  hastily  clutch 
babies  and  bundles ;  those  exasperating,  cool  persons,  the  experienced  travellers,  quietly 
push  ahead,  and,  obtaining  the  best  seats,  turn  over  the  ones  next  them,  fill  them  with 
carpet-bags    and    overcoats,    and    coolly    ignore  all    inquiring    glances ;   the   shrill    whistle 


1  and  siiiuii- 
iver  and  liie 
am  of  liglit, 
reach  of  I  lie 
.-n  which  I  lie 
he  Maryland 
fiat  show  the 
I  Ohio  Canal 
ovemcnt,  l>e- 
1.  ( )ccasi(in- 
path    before 


Mill   uii    Anticlain    K<ia<l. 


awakens  the  answering  echoes  from  the  surrounding  hills,  and  the  train  carries  its  bur- 
den westward,  its  long  array  of  shining  windows  flashing  on  tiie  river  and  growing  dim- 
mer and  dimmer,  until,  all  confused  and  blended,  they  disappear  beyond  the  rounded 
western  hills.  Again  tiie  (juiet  is  only  broken  by  the  ceaseless  rijiple  of  the  Potomac, 
as  it  frets  and  chafes  over  its  obstructions,  and  by  the  weirdly-musical  horns  of  the 
boatmen  as  they  play  fiuitastic  tunes,  as  a  warning  of  their  approach,  to  the  keeper  of 
the  lock. 

Wandering    off  from    the    I-Vrry    i)y    t'le    banks    of  the    river,    bv    mountain-streams, 
often  falling    in   graceful  cascades,  or   pursuing  their   course  along  the    indented  base   of 


336 


PICTURESQUE    AMERICA. 


the  Blue  Ridge,  many  forest-roads  present  little  "bits"  of  striking  beauty  dear  to  the 
eye  of  the  artist.  The  road  to  ^Vntietam  and  the  battle-field  of  Sharpsburg  is  especialh' 
rich  in  these  cabinet-pictures  set  in  Nature's  framework. 

The  drive  is  along  the  mountain-side  from  Pleasant  Valley.  It  runs  for  part  of 
the  way  under  overhanging  rocks  and  above  deep-wooded  ravines,  into  which  foaming 
cascades  leap,  sounding  in  their  far  recesses.  All  along  the  elevated  road  beautiful 
views  of  mountain  and  valley  open,  ever-varying. 

i^fter  the  mountains  are  left,  the  Antietam  gives  a  different  scenery.  Old  mills 
border  the  sleepy  stream — called,  in  the  speech  of  the  country,  a  "  creek."  Quaint  stone 
bridges  span  it,  and,  near  its  juncture  with  the  Potomac,  stands  the  rambling,  uneven 
range  of  buildings  which  form  the  Antietam  Rolling-Mills. 

On  the  road  leading  from  Pleasant  Valley  and  that  from  Boonsborough  came  the 
army  of  McClellan  to  the  battle  of  Antietam,  or  Sharpsburg.  These  two  roads  are  the 
only  ones  that  cross  the  Antietam  on  stone  bridges.  The  Burnside  Bridge  is  on  the 
Pleasant  -  A'alley  road,  and  here  some  of  the  most  desperate  fighting  of  the  day  oc- 
curred. It  was  on  the  extreme  right  of  Lee's  line.  Sloping  down  to  it  are  the  heights 
of  Sharpsburg.  It  was  of  almost  vital  importance  to  Lee  to  guard  this  flank.  If  it 
should  be  doubled  up,  and  the  Sharpsburg  Height  in  the  hands  of  McClellan,  the 
Shcpherdstown  Ford  of  the  Potomac  would  be  closed  to  his  retreat.  The  Confederate 
forces,  under  the  command  of  General  Toombs,  held  the  bridge,  and  were  supported  by 
batteries  posted  on  the  hills  in  the  rear.  Burnside  was  ordered  to  attack  and  carry  this 
bridge  at  all  hazards.  The  attack  was  commenced  at  eight  in  the  morning.  From  that 
time  until  mid-day  the  bridge  was  alternately  in  the  hands  of  each  of  the  opposin;; 
forces.  Couriers  from  McClellan  urged  Burnside  to  "  carry  the  bridge  with  the  bayonet," 
and  to  capture  and  hold  the  height  beyond.  At  four  in  the  afternoon  a  final  attack 
captured  it.  It  was  then  too  late.  The  command  of  A.  P.  Hill  had  arrived  from  Har- 
per's Ferry,  and  the  federal  advance  was  checked.  McClellan,  after  the  terrible  liglit 
that  had  continued  throughout  the  day  along  the  whole  line,  was  too  weak  to  reeiiforcc 
Burnside.  Thus  both  sides  rested  at  nightfall.  Lee  then  retreated  by  the  Shcpherdstown 
Ford  into  X'irginia. 

Harper's  l*'erry,  long  before  the  war  brought  it  conspicuously  to  the  attention  of  the 
world,  had  derived  an  extensive  fame  from  Jefferson's  descri|)tion  of  it.  This  description 
the  visitor  of  to-day  is  apt  to  believe  exaggerated.  But  Jefferson's  account  was  written 
before  we  were  lamiliar  with  all  the  natural  wonders  of  our  land,  and  hence,  while  its 
beauties  are  very  great,  it  is  scarcely  "one  of  the  most  stupeiulous  scenes  in  Nature;" 
nor  arc  we  apt  to  believe  a  view  of  it  "worth  a  voyage  across  the  Atlantic."  It  must 
rank  among  the  numerous  striking  natural  beauties  of  our  land,  inferior  in  magnitude  to 
many  of  the  far  Western  caflons,  but  acquiring  an  interest  from  its  historical  associations, 
which  more  than  com|)ensate  for  its  secondary  place  in  our  gallery  of  scenic  wonders. 


II' 


SCENES    IN    VIRGINIA. 


WITH      ILLUSTRATIONS     BY     WILLIAM      L.     SHEPPAHD. 


■^;!i?*^ 


Lk.'"'-' 

♦• 

"^^^ 

-^ 

ft 

'M 

» 

i-m 


r"^  fi 


^•^;-"''Sf^ 


■^'^^^fciSi' 


Interior  of  Natural  'lunncl. 


pit)TLJRESOl'1\  America  may  be  saiu  t(<  find  almost  an  epitome  of  itself  in  the 
-*■  State  of  Virginia.  Her  scenery — infinitely  varied,  beautiful  exceedingly,  and  some- 
times truly  jrrand— repeats  in  her  own  boundaries  features  which  would  have  to  be 
'•iHiirlit  in  places  widely  separated.  Here,  indeed,  are  no  Al|)s,  no  Matterhorn  to  tempt 
Whymper  or  Tyndall,  and  no  glaciers  to  studv  ;  nor  do  those  works  of  Nature  find  a 
paiiiilil  on  this  side  of  the  Mississippi.  Rut  from  Harper's  Ferry  to  the  farthest  south- 
west corner  of  the  State  there  is  literally  a  world  of  scenic  beauties,  ravishing  to  the 
artist,  and  invitinjj  to  even  the  dullest  traveller  or  sijfht-seer,  Let  us  fjlance  at  a  few 
"f  the  more  strikin^j  of  these  mountain-pictures.  The  marvels  of  the  Natural  Hridge, 
and  the  hitherto  almost  unknown  wonders  of  VVever's  Cave,  have  been  illustrated  and 
(lisciihed  in  former  papers  in  this  work.  Our  present  series  jjives  a  varied  selection  of 
"ther  scenes,  some  of  which  are  almost  as  remarkable  as  the  better-known  features  of  the 
State. 

The  Natural  Tunnel,  in  Scott  County,  is  the  first  point  to  which  we  will  conduct  the 


'  ! 


NATUfiAL      TUNNEU. 


.Siiri.., 


SCENES   IN    VIRGINIA. 


339 


reader.     The  variety  and  beauty  of  the  forest-growths  constitute  the  most  striking  pecul- 
iarity of  this  southwestern  portion  of  Virginia — one  might  say,  the  only  striking  peculiarity 
—and  hence,  no  doubt,  the  surprise  which  the  Tunnel  excites  when  it  i-?  seen,  albeit  the 
spectator  has  been  in  momentary  anticipation  of  the  object  of  his  quest.      This   surprise 
recurs  at  every  visit   to   the    Natural    Bridge,  and    the  Tunnel  is  a  similar  formation,  not 
so  lofty  in  its  arch,  but  longer  and  more  tortuous  in  its  course  through  the  hill  or  shoul- 
der of  the   mountain.      In   the   one   case   there  is  ^  short  and  nearly  straight  tunnel  ;   in 
tlie  other  the  tunnel  is  long  and  very  crooked;  in  both  cases  the  country-road  runs  over 
tiie  tunnel,  the  traveller  crossing   it   unawares.      Stock   Creek,  a  tributary  of  the    Clinch, 
whose  limpid  waters  have  repeatedly  wetted  the  hoofs  of  our  horses  m  our  zigzag  course 
iiither,  has  forced  or  found  a  pas    ge  through  the  ridge  which  stretches  athwart  the   nar- 
row, deep  valley,  and,  in    so    doing,   describes   what    railroad-men    would   call   a   "  reverse 
curve,"  one  hundred  and  fifty  yards   in   length.      Thus,  although    the   arch    is   seventy  or 
eighty  feet  high,  the   light   is   intercepted,  and,  even  when    the  sun   is  at   its  zenith,  the 
passage  of  the   Tunnel    is   attended   with    difficulties.      At   other   times,  when    the   rising 
or  declining   orb   lends   but   a   partial   and   imperfect  illumination,  the  subteiranean  trav- 
eller, plunged    in    Cimmerian    darkness,   cannot    repress   a   feeling   of   genuine  4iorror   as 
he  toils  through   the   central   portion   of  the  curve,  and,  as  he  emerges,  hails  the   sun- 
shine with   rapture,  exalted   and    prolonged   by   the   precipices   of  naked   rock  ascending 
sheer  three   hundred   feet   above   and   around  him ;   while   higher   yet   rise   the   verdurous 
crests  of   the    forest-crowned    summits,   and  above   all   bends  the   intense,   unfathomable 
blue  of  the  welkin.     A   master   of  hyperbole   might  exhaust  his  store  of  rhetoric  upon 
this  spectacle,  which  the  man  of  plain  speech  would  be  content  to  call  very  wonderful. 
In   truth,  it    is   a   curiosity  of   Nature — unique,  if  not  sublime.     When  the  Cumberland- 
Gap    Railroad — not  yet   begun — is  completed,   and   when   West   meets   East   at    Bristol- 
(ioodson— the   proposed  starting-point  of  the  projected  road — when  that  bright  day  shall 
dawn,  the    Natural   Tunnel   will    have   countless    admiring   visitors,  most   of  whom,  unfa- 
tigued   by  horseback -journeying   over   roads    none    too   good,  will   be   content   to   linger 
longer  than  we  did.     It  is  said  that  the   projected   road   must  pass  through  this  tunnel, 
there  being  no  other  practicable  route.     If  this   be  true,  and  if  thereby  this  great  won- 
der be  seriously  impaired  liy  cutting  off  one  or  the  other  of  its  curves,  then  the  lover 
of  the  picturesque  may  hope  that  the  road,  serviceable  as  it  may  be  to  travel  and  traffic, 
will  never  be  built. 

Leaving  the  Tunnel,  which,  after  the  Natural  Bridge,  is  undoubtedly  the  most  im- 
posing lusus  natura  east  of  the  Mississippi  River,  we  retrace  our  way  along  the  Atlan- 
tic, Mississippi  and  Ohio  Railroad.  Around  us  are  mountains  of  every  conceivable 
shape — all  the  rounded  outlines,  all  the  frightful  angles,  incident  to  such  scenery — bays 
and  nooks  of  greenery,  reaching  far  off  into  coves ;  vales  and  chasms ;  bald  knobs, 
dotted   with    the   skeleton    trees ;   jagged   precipices,   exposing    the    unhealed    stumps    of 


New  River. 


Sycainort'  on  New  Kiver. 


SCENES    IN    VIRGINIA. 


341 


gigantic  mountain-limbs  torn  off  as  by  seismic  violence ;  mountains  lapped  and  dove- 
tailed within  mountains,  range  above  and  beyond  range,  in  seemingly  endless  succession, 
\vooin,<r  us  to  stop,  and  flitting  all  too  quickly  past  as  the  train  flies  on. 

Debarking   at    Central    Depot,  we   start   thence  on  horseback  for  a  trip   down    New 
River,  crossing   it   near   the   station.      The   river   Hows   silently    here,  but   with    a  subtile 


^^"-^^f^"^  ': 


Great  F.-ills,  New  River. 


sort  of  force,  between  banks  lined  with  sycamores,  which  trail  their  branches  in  the 
water  in  many  instances.  Masses  of  brown-gray  rock  lift  their  heads  above  the  foliage 
in  many  places,  but  the  banks  soon  fall  away,  and  the  stream,  gliding  along  the  low- 
lands, divides  with  its  silver  breadth  the  rich  alluvium  which  the  plough  has  upturned  to 
rtccive  the  corn.      Expectant  crows,  doves   cooing   on   the    dead    branches   of  the    belted 


'^hBH 


342 


PICTURESQUE   AMERICA. 


trees,  and  the  mists  liftinji  from  tlic  distant  mountains,  enliven  the  solitude.  The  ferry- 
man never  has  any  small  ehange,  and  has  to  run,  or  rather  walk,  to  his  house  to  hunt 
it  up  out  of  the  wads  of  fractional  currency  hidden  carefully  away  in  some  ancient 
sock  or  stocking.  This  proves  no  hardship  to  the  horsemen,  whose  eyes  are  charmed 
with  the  varied  landscape,  now  concealed  and  anon  disclosed  by  the  coiiuettish  ])ranks 
of  the  morning  vapors. 

We  take  a  short  cut  athwart  a  bight,  or  loop,  of  the  river,  following  a  narrow  path, 
the  main  road  having  been  fenced  c]uite  across  on  account  of  some  dispute  as  to  the 
right  of  way.  Fanners  become  indignant  because  their  fence  (a  few  rails)  is  taken  down 
to  give  passage  to  the  artist  and  his  friend,  albeit  the  said  rails  are  carefully  replaced  as 
good  as  new.  At  last,  regaining  the  main  road,  which  goes  over  a  ridge  adorned  with 
noble  timber,  we  quicken  our  pace,  observing,  as  we  pass  rapidly  along,  that  even  the 
local  names  are  misspelled  on  ihe  half-rotten  sign-boards.  We  meet  ao  travellers.  A 
negro-boy,  drifted  hither  from  Mississippi  by  the  vicissitudes  of  the  late  war,  undertakes 
to  be  our  guide,  but,  becoming  disgusted  with  the  roughness  and  hilliness  of  the  road, 
soon  leaves  us.  We  press  on.  A  lonely  hut  in  a  clearing  on  the  hill-side ;  naked  nc^^ro- 
childrcn.  staring ;  a  dog  in  convulsions  of  barking ;  a  plant-patch  for  tobacco-burning,  in  a 
hollow,  among  the  stumps  of  half-felled  trees ;  a  church  in  a  grove  at  the  foot  of  a  hill, 
well  built  of  brick,  but  as  destitute  of  attractions  as  the  sternest  Puritan  could  wish,  after 
the  manner  of  country-churches  in   Virginia — constitute  the  features  of  this  lonely  road. 

We  go  through  five  gates  in  two  miles.  A  heinous  offence  in  Virginia  it  is  to 
leave  a  gate  open,  and  a  case  recently  reported  on  this  road — the  only  one  that  leads 
up  from  the  river  on  this  side — has  agitated  the  whole  community.  Again  we  encoun- 
ter the  river,  the  road  narrowing  very  much,  and  winding  under  steep  bluffs ;  the  river 
still  flowing  majestically,  and  the  opposite  banks  getting  higher,  with  no  visible  outlet  for 
the  stream.  Now  the  road  runs  on  the  water's  margin ;  and  now  it  mounts  far  above, 
and  the  hoofs  of  our  steeds  are  level  with  the  tops  of  the  white-and-brown-barred  syca- 
mores. Rocks  become  more  numerous  in  the  bed  of  the  stream,  interspersed  witli 
immense  stranded  logs,  the  beams  of  houses,  and  the  wrecked  mill-machinery,  brought 
down  by  the  great  flood  of  1870.  Here  the  water  glides  over  ledges  or  eddies  under 
willows;  the  mountains  become  higher  and  steeper — higher  even  than  on  the  Hudson  in 
the  Highlands — and  are  thickly  clothed  with  woods.  Here  and  there,  great  streams  of 
loose  stones — moraines,  most  likely — poured  out  as  by  a  superhuman  hand,  extend  away 
up  the  mountain-side.  Houses  are  few  and  far  apart ;  the  people  stare  intently,  are  slow 
to  return  a  salute,  and  do  not  even  ask  the  news.  Civilization  is  far  behind  us.  Moun- 
tains tower  on  every  hand  ;  there  is  seemingly  no  escape  for  the  imprisoned  waters,  lake- 
like here,  still  as  death,  enchanted  and  asleep.  The  solitude  and  grandeur  of  the  scene 
become  oppressive;  respiration  is  almost  impeded.  We  push  on.  A  murmur  is  heard; 
it  becomes  a  roar;  we  turn  a  corner,  and  behold — the  Great  Falls! 


The  ferrv'. 
)iiSL'  to  hunt 
>>mc  ancient 
arc  charmed 
■tt'sh    I'ranks 

narrow  path, 
e  as  to  the 
taken  down 
replaced  as 
domed  with 
at   even  the 
avellcrs.     A 
;  undertakes 
if  the  road, 
aked  negro- 
'urnin<r,  in  a 
ot  of  a  hill, 
d  wish,  after 
Jnely  road. 
iniu  it  is  to 
-   that  leads 
\vc  encoun- 
>',    the  river 
e  outlet  for 
far  above, 
)arrcd  s)ca- 
•ersed  with 
ry,  broiiijht 
dies  under 
Hudson  in 
itreanis  of 
tend  away 
^,  arc  slow 
s.     Moun- 
iters,  lakc- 
thc  scene 
is  heard; 


344 


PICTURESQUE   AMERICA. 


I 


The  river,  half  a  mile  or  more  in  width,  foams  and  dashes  o^•er  tiie  ledges  formed 
by  the  peculiar  stratification,  well  shown  on  the  mountain-side  in  the  engraving,  with 
great  but  not  unmusical  violence  in  some  places;  while  in  others  it  slides  between  the 
huge  rocks  with  a  ;;wift,  treacherous  look,  which  fascinates  the  obrerver.     Boats  equipped 


Anv'l  Cliff. 


with  oars  at  both  ends  shoot  these  dangerous  rapids,  guided  with  consummate  skill  I'v 
the  boatmen,  who  are  generally  negroes.  ( lotting  back  is  a  toilsome  business,  compelim^; 
the  men  frequently  to  plunge  waist-deep  in  the  powerful  current,  in  order  to  push  thtir 
boats  up  by  main  strength.  The  delighted  visitor  may  linger  long  at  the  Falls;  luil, 
our  sketching  accomplistied,  we   follow  the   course  of  the   beautiful    river,  which  soon  re- 


SCENES   IN    VIRGINIA. 


345 


I'urgalory   InlK,   IIimiI  Walert  nf  llic  Ki>ui>'ke. 


sumcs  its  pliicidity.  nlthouffli  tin-  actual  vrlouitv  has  not  hei-n  prcativ  (iimiiiislicd.  'I  he 
wncry  is  literally  majrnificcnt,  and  of  the  character  already  noted,  except  that  at  inter- 
vals high  crajfs  tower  abcve  the  stream,  their  gray,  russet,  and  ochreous  tints  harmoniz- 
injr  admirably  with  the  foliage.. 


346 


PICTURESQUE  AMERICA. 


At  the  point  shown  in  the  accompanying-  engraving,  the  river,  lapsing  once  more 
into  its  lake-like  aspect,  composes  itself  into  n  picture  which  has  an  almost  studio-lih 
attention  to  the  ordinary  rules  of  composition,  more  striking  in  color  than  in  form,  but 
still  most  beautiful— the  dreamless,  perfect  rest,  after  the  strife  and  contention  at  the  Falls. 
A  singular  feature  of  the  landscape  is  the  Lombardy  poplar,  a  tree  fast  disa])])e;iring 
from  Virginia.  Mr.  Jefferson  is  said  to  have  introduced  this  lovely,  home-suggesting 
tree  into  America      It  looks  out  of  place,  and  lost,  in  these  •viji  fastnesses. 

An  odd  contrivance,  at  a  farm-house  on  a  high  hill,  attracts  our  attention,  A 
range  of  posts,  like  those  of  a  telegraph-line,  runs  down  the  hill  to  a  spring.  Wires 
are  stretched  along  thsse  posts,  and  a  bucket  on  a  traveller  is  hauled  when  full  from  the 
spring,  slipping  back,  by  its  own  gravity,  when  emptied,  and  stopping  immediately  under 
the  spout,  so  as  to  be  refilled     nd  ready  for  use  whenever  needed. 

Abruptly  parting  froin  the  river,  it  being  impo.ssible  to  get  along  the  banks,  where 
clifT  after  cliff  protrudes  into  the  water,  we  make  a  circuit  of  several  miles,  and  come 
suddenly  in  sight  of  the  river  again.  The  scene,  viewed  from  the  top  of  a  lofty  hill 
opposite  Egglestone's,  or  the  New  River  White  Sulphur  Springs,  is  most  remarkable, 
High  hiUs  enclose  the  place;  back  of  these  are  mountains,  and  back  of  all  the  grcai 
Salt- Pond  Mountain — a  slumbering  Titan.  In  the  foreground,  a  hill-top,  with  gnarled 
and  picturesque  trees,  beneath,  the  tranquil,  gleaming  river,  shortly  lost  to  sight  in  the 
sombre  mountains  ;  and,  immediately  opposite  the  spectator,  the  rugged,  riven,  and  weird 
Anvil  Cliff  lifts  its  awful  init  not  repulsive  front.  Descending  the  winding  pathway, 
under  tall,  fantastic  rocks,  we  reach  ILgglestone's  I'erry,  and  halt  in  mute  admiratii)n  of 
the  scene  before  us.  The  sketch  leaves  little  to  be  added  by  wav  of  description.  Hy  an 
old  gentleman  of  the  neighborhood,  who,  fond  of  the  classics,  as  most  of  the  educated 
old  gentlemen  of  \'irginia  are,  the  natural  arch  in  the  rock  and  the  pinnacle  on  the 
left  were  designated,  years  ago,  res|)ectively  Ca^Siir's  Arch  and  I'ompey's  Pillar.  Thi 
river  being  thirty  or  forty  feet  deep,  a  ferry-boat,  impelled  by  huge  oars,  is  brought  inin 
pla\-.  The  banks  are  lined  with  trees,  mostly  sycamores,  but  there  are  also  sonu'  line 
elms.  Among  the  former  we  find  a  numiier  of  curious  shape.;,  an  example  of  which  is 
given  in  the  engraving.  The  banyan  is  suggested  in  this  singular  formation;  ami  ilie 
support  given  to  the  huge  limb-trunk  »vhich  impends  over  the  water,  lends  a  coloring  tn 
Figuier's  easy  faith  in  jilant-sympathies,  which  ainvjst  simulate  intelligence. 

Ik'low  the  ferry,  on  the  right,  looking  down  the  stream,  rises  the  Anvil  Cliff,  the 
height  of  v.'hich,  ascertained  by  triangulation,  is  stated  In  be  two  hundred  and  nindv- 
six  feet  -an  over-estimate,  probably.  The  cliffs  are  elevated  in  immense  lamina',  ami  in 
a  plane  generally  obliijue  to  the  stream — their  color  sombre  gray,  with  brighter  belts  and 
dashes  of  dirty  white ;  their  summits  black  and  riven,  capped  by  twisted  and  storm- 
stained  cedars.  Mightv  forest-trees  are  inserted  between  the  crags;  and  in  certain  places 
the   accumulated   washings   of  the   stream    have   formed,  at   the    base  of  the  cliffs,  little 


SCENES   IN    VIRGINIA. 


347 


levels  in  terraces  of  lively  green,  which  aflford  foothold  and  nourishment  to  bright- 
leaved  and  gracefully-bending  maples.  But  the  general  aspect  of  the  scene  is  savage 
and  Dantesque.  At  sunset,  the  tops  of  the  cliffs  are  illumined  with  brilliant  gold  or 
bathed  in  vivid  red,  as  the  character  of  the  evening  may  he,  while  all  below  is  enveloped 


's  Pillar.  Tlu 
s  brought  iiilii 
also  sonic  liiu' 
le  of  wliich  is 
ation  ;  and  the 
■>  a  colorini:  tn 

Vnvil  CiiH,  (In 
d  and  nindv- 
iaminu',  and  in 
jliter  belts  .ind 
:d  and  storm- 
certain  fdias 
he    (-iiirs,  little 


l'col<s  of  Oltcr. 

in  ((M)l,  purplish   shadow — a  noble   and   e:;quisit«'   scene,  worthy  in  form   and  cidoring  of 
till'  best  master  in  the  land. 

Inconspicuous  in  itself  and  .scarcely  worthy  of  such  august  company,  the  "Anvil," 
which  gives  the  name  to  this  stately  pile  of  rocks,  is,  nevertheless,  much  larger  than  it 
appears  to  the  eye,  being  four  i)y  nine  feet  in  actual  dimensions.  An  adventurous  IJap- 
ti-^t  preacher  once  clambered  down  tiic  cliff,  and.  standing  upon  the  giddy  point  of  the 


348 


PICTURESQUE    AMERICA. 


Anvil,  delivered,  as  the  legend  avers,  a  sound  doctrinal  discourse.  If  so,  the  loftiness  of 
his  style  and  the  height  of  his  argument  must  have  been  considerable.  Near  the  foot 
of  the  cliff  from  whicii  the  Anvil  juts,  a  stream  gurgles  between  the  fallen  masses  of 
rock.  It  is  the  outlet  of  a  stream,  which  disappears  strangely  on  the  mountain-side  in 
rear  of  the  massive  pile.  Indeed,  the  behavior  of  the  water  hereabouts  is  very  singular. 
It  is  troubled  by  devils  rather  than  by  angels;  sending  up  great  bubbles  continuiillv ; 
and,  on  t'..'j  occasions  in  the  last  two  years,  threw  itself,  geyser-like,  full  twenty  fctt 
into  the  air.  A  tattered,  dull-headed  fisherman,  who  daily  plies  these  solemn  waters  in 
search  of  the  excellent  white  cat-lish  which  ibound  at  certain  seasons,  was  frightened 
nearly  out  of  the  little  wit  he  had  by  one  of  tiiese  startling  ebullitions. 

New  River  is  justly  ranked  among  the  wonders  of  Vir^nnia,  and  the  impression  left 
upon  the  mind  after  a  visit  to  it,  however  solemn  and  even  gloomy  it  may  be,  is  one 
from  which  we  would  not  wil'ingly  part — so  deep  is  it,  and  so  removed  from  the  com- 
mon order  of  quickly-effaced  remembrances. 

A  rough  ritle  in  a  wagon,  whose  springs  »vere  a  contradiction  in  terms,  brings  us 
back  to  the  railroad,  and  the  train  bears  us  eastward  to  Alleghany  Station.  Here  tin 
I^oanoke  River  meanders  so  that  it  has  to  be  crossed  five  times  before  we  reach  tin 
AUt-ghany  Springs,  five  miles  from  which  one  of  the  streams  which  form  the  head-waters 
of  the  Roanoke,  precipitating  itself  over  a  steep  ledge,  makes  what  is  known  as  Purina- 
tory  Falls.  Why  so  called  docs  not  appear,  unless,  in  the  m''id  of  the  originator  of  tin. 
name,  there  'vas  some  (jbscure  idea  of  |)urgatorial  or  expiating  merit  in  climbing  up  the 
gorge  whicli  terminati  s  at  the  cascade.  I-'ew  approaches  to  a  scene  so  beautiful  are  more 
l)icturesque.  The  detached  masses  of  rock  which  impede  and  divide  the  stream  arc  of 
enormous  size,  and  out  of  all  proportion  to  the  volume  of  water,  though  that  is  hv  no 
means  small.  The  large  tree-trunks  lodged  against  the  huge  rocks,  v.hich  are  not  lioul- 
ders,  but  irregular  solids,  tell  the  fury  of  the  torrent  when  at  its  height  in  rainy  sea- 
sons. The  place  has  a  very  "  snaky  "  look.  A  chance  coni^anion  of  the  artist  suggt  sted 
thai  if  he  was  a  good  "  snake -fighter,"  he  had  better  take  the  lead.  Armed  with 
that  formidable  but  mysterious  club,  the  .sketching-stool,  the  artist  did  lead,  but  happily 
no  snakes  appeared.  The  water  falls  about  seventy  feet.  Tall  hemlocks  and  inajiles 
keep  the  gorge  in  a  tentier  half-light,  broken  at  mid-day  by  glaring  rays,  that  give  a 
magical  charm  to  the  place.  An  accident  occurred  here  some  years  ago,  by  wliiili  a 
voung  gentleman,  a  visitor  at  the  springs,  lost  his  life  in  falling  from  a  tree.  Willi 
questionable  taste,  his  name  has  been  given  to  the  falls,  but  has  not  superseded  the 
original  title,  as  given  in  the  text. 

Returning  in  an  onniibus  to  the  station,  an  irrepressible  |)erson  bent  his  whole  iniml 
to  the  discovery  of  the  use  to  which  the  strange  instrument  carried  by  the  artist  cmild 
be  ap|)lie(l.     Others  had  repeatedly  ga/ed,  but   he  boldly  questioned: 

"To  set   /;/ .'     llow  on  earth  kin  a  man  set  ///  a  stick?" 


c  loftiness  of 
'««car  the  foot 
in  masses  of 
untain-sidc  in 
very  sin^rular. 
!  continiKillv; 
twenty  feet 
iin  waters  in 
'as  frijriuened 

npressiun  left 
ay  be,  is  one 
om  the  com- 

nis,  hrinj^rs  u:- 

1.      Here  the 

kve  reacii  the 

J  head-waters 

vn  as  Fur»a- 

iiator  (if  the 

nbinjr  ii|)  the 

ful  are  mere 

ream  are  of 

lat   is  liv  no 

re  not  iiuwl- 

II    rainy  sea- 

ist  supjrestcd 

Armed    with 

but  happily 

and   majiles 

that   fjive  a 

by  which  a 

tree.     With 

)ersede(l   the 

whole  itiiiul 
artist  could 


$S9 


PICTURESQUE    AMERICA. 


It  was  unfolded. 

"But  how  kin  you  set  on  three  pints  any  more'n  one?" 

The  canvas  seat  was  explained  to  him. 

"Well!"  drawing  a  long  breath,  "ef  I  didn't  think  you  set  in  a  cheer  and  draw'd 
your  picters  out  uv  a  window  uv  a  house  on  wheels,  I'll  be  dog  gone !  You  ai'n't  no 
daggerertyper,  then  ?  " 

The  artist  disclaimed  that  high  honor. 

Still  going  eastward,  we  stop  at  Liberty,  in  Bedford  County,  in  order  that  a  sketch 
may  be  made  of  the  famous  Peaks  of  Otter.  The  view,  taken  a  short  distance  from  the 
village,  is  much  more  accurate  than  any  heretofore  printed.      The  peaks  have  been  made 


Natural  Towers. 


familiar  i)y  repeated  descriptions.  Ten  miles  distant  from  the  village  above  named,  the 
higher  of  the  two  is  five  thousand  three  hundred  and  seven  feet  above  the  level  of  the 
ocean  ;  and  the  view  from  its  top  is  truly  magnificent.  Eastward  stretches  an  intermina- 
ble plain,  farther  than  the  eye  can  reach;  while  to  the  west  a  tumultuous  sea  of  mmm- 
tains  extends  on  and  on  to  the  remote  horizon.  This  grand  panorama,  once  seen,  can 
never  be  forgotten.  A  hotel  of  good  repute,  situated  half-way  up  the  taller  i)eak,  was 
burnt  last  year,  but  is  now  in  process  of  reconstruction.  It  is  a  favorit<-  and  delight liil 
summer  resort. 

From   Bedford  County  to  the   limestone    region    of  tiie   X'allev    is  our    next   reniDVc. 
Here   caves   and    curious    formations  exist    in    numbers,   surpassed   only    by   the  country 


SCENES   IN    VIRGINIA. 


351 


around  the  Great  Lakes,  but  these  we  have  already  illustrated  in  an  article  on  "  Weyer's 
Cave."  In  Augusta  County  are  the  Natural  Towers.  A  glimpse  of  them  is  caught 
in  driving  down  the  road  that  skirts  the  North  River.  No  cliffs  or  mountains  near 
at  hand  suggest  the  proximity  of  this  wonder.  Across  the  river  is  seen  a  plain  skirted 
by  a   range  of  wooded   hills   of  moderate    height,   and,  just    at    the   foot   of  this    range, 


'  named,  the 
level  of  tlir 
in  intermina- 
ea  of  moun- 
ice  seen,  can 
cr  peak,  was 
nd   delight  Inl 

lext   remove 
the   country 


lump    Mountain. 

the  Towers  rise  straight  up  from  the  cultivated  field.  The  illusion  is  perfect  ;  any  one 
would  mistake  them  for  a  ruined  work  of  human  hands.  No  other  rocks  arc  visible. 
From  a  distanc-,  the  ragged  peaks  of  the  Towers  arc  transformed  almost  without  an 
eflurt  of  the  imagination  into  crumbling  embrasures  and  machicolations.  The  first  aspect 
is  tKat  of  the  large  engraving,  but,  following  the  road,  the  observer  is  brought  to  the 
other  face,  and   hen    the    resemblance   to  a    feudal    ruin,  the    curtain-wall,  with    flanking 


352 


PICTURESQUE    AMERICA. 


towers,  and  low,  central  archway,  is  exact.  It  would  hardly  be  a  surprise  if,  issuin<r  from 
the  gateway,  a  knightly  corti'ge,  in  glistening  helms  and  hauberks,  with  pennons  ilaunting 
gayly,  should  file  off  to  the  neighboring  highway,  and  proceed    to   levy  toll   upon   a  be- 


Cioslicn    I'ass. 


latcd  and  unprotected  wagon-train  laden  with  "  Swopc's  Family  Flour."  i\  nearer  in- 
spection shows  that  the  inner  side  of  tiie  pile  is  really  attached  to  the  hill-side.  Tlic 
colors  arc  varied  in  horizontal  hands,  and,  from  the  seams  which  appear  at  almost  equal 
intervals  in  their  height,  the  Towers  are  apparently  the  result  of  successive  depositions. 


SCENES   IN    VIRGINIA. 


353 


Bidding  farewell  to  the  Towers,  we  proceed  westward  along  the  Chesapeake  and  Ohio 
Railroad  to  Goshen  Pass.  A  stage  hurries  us  through  at  night,  {ox  wc  are  to  sleep  at  the 
Rockbridge  Baths,  visit  the  Jump  Mountain,  and  return  to  the  Pass.  We  see  the  over- 
haiio'ing:  crags,  the  high,  naked  summits,  the  black  masses  of  foliage,  and  hear  the 
melancholy  winds  soughing  in  unison  with  the   invisible  river  rushing  far   below — that   is 


Clifton   Forge. 


all.     It   is   simply  grand,  but  we  inttle   on   to   the    Baths,  where  we    have    things   all   to 
ourselves,  the  season  not  having  commenced. 

luirly  next  morning  wc  mount  the  buggy  and  are  off  for  Jump  Mountain.  Thun- 
(lir-showers  drag  over  the  top  of  the  "Jump"  is  we  follow  the  road,  prospecting  for  a 
good  point  of  view,  and  the  mountain  appears  to  decide  not  to  allow  his  portrait  to  be 


354 


PICTURESQUE    AMERICA. 


I         I 


taken  that  day.  Dismounting,  we  rummaged  an  Indian  mound,  a  very  mass  of  bones 
once  quite  distinct,  but  nearly  effaced  now  by  freshet  and  by  the  plough.  The  ligend 
goes  that,  in  far-off  days,  ere  the  white  intruder  came,  there  was  a  great  battle  here 
between  the  Shawnces  and  Cherokees.  A  red  maiden  watched  from  yonder  mountain- 
height  the  varying  tide  of  combat,  and,  when  her  lover  fell,  jumped  from  the  beetling 
cliff — hence  the  name.  The  lorgnette  which  even  Love's  piercing  eyes  must  have  used 
to  detect  certain  death  at  such  a  distance  has  not  been  preserved  in  any  museum; 
nor  did  we  stop  to  search  for  it,  but,  plunging  into  a  lonesome  gorge,  found  tiic  de- 
sired point  of  view,  and  at  the  same  time  a  homely  dinner  in  the  cabin  of  a  hospitable 
old  mountaineer,  who  refused  pay.  In  answer  to  a  question  from  him  as  to  the  facts 
of  the  matter,  we  told  him  that  Richmond  had  been  damaged  by  the  war !  Some  ru- 
mor had  reached  him  to  that  effect. 

The  western  base  of  the  Jump  abuts  on  Goshen  Pass,  and  the  ascent  on  that  side 
is  so  gradual  that  even  ladies  on  horseback,  during  the  Springs'  season,  ride  to  the  edge 
of  the  cliff,  five  hundred  feet  perpendicular,  which  abruptly  breaks  the  contour  of  the 
mountain.  A  prodigious  stream  of  dc'bris,  the  result  of  the  forces  which  escaped  the 
mountain's  face,  rolls  from  the  base  of  the  cliff  nearly  to  the  foot  of  the  mountain, 
barring  approach  on  this  side.  We  did  not  even  attcm,it  it,  but,  trotting  homeward, 
watched  the  blazing  splendor  of  the  sunset  upon  the  lofty  monarch's  head,  while  the 
cool   twilight  of  the  valley  enveloped  all  about  our  road. 

On  the  morrow  we  are  promptly  at  the  Goshen  Pass  and  through  it — a  narrow 
gorge,  the  like  of  which  for  length  and  depth  is  not  in  all  Virginia,  for  it  extend* 
nearly  nine  miles  between  its  frowning  walls !  At  its  southeastern  entrance  a  spring  oi 
sulphur-water  gushes  out  of  a  rock  in  the  middle  of  the  stream  v/hich  traverses  this 
Cyclopean  g-)rge.  The  river-waters,  pure  and  sweet,  flow  around  the  Acherontic  pool, 
as  if  shunning  contact  with  a  liquid    of  so    infernal   a   savor  that    it   is  perceptible  at  a 

« 

great  distance.  Rude  houses  hard  by  are  empty  now,  but  tenanted  in  midsummer  liv 
neighborhood  folk,  who  bring  their  own  outfit  and  rations,  and  stay  weeks,  such  is  their 
confidence  in  the  curative  virtues  of  the  nauseous  fountain. 

And  now  we  are  fairly  within  the  Pass.  Words  arc  of  little  use,  and  even  the 
pencil  fails,  for  that  can  give  but  one  side  at  a  time  of  this  gigantic  and  horrible 
chasm.  Overhanging  crags,  black  and  blasted  at  their  summits,  or  bristling  with  stark 
and  gnarled  pines,  tower  in  places  into  the  very  heavens,  six,  seven,  eight  hundred  feet 
above  the  stream.  Lower  down,  monstrous  rocks  threaten  to  topple  and  crush  the  fool- 
hardy wayfarer  who  ventures  beneath  their  dreadful  masses  The  roadway  is  in  places 
walled  up  from  the  stream,  which  flashes  deep  down  beneath  him.  The  place  is  "ui- 
canny "  enough.  A  bear  and  cubs,  killed  here  recently,  remind  the  artist  and  his  friend 
that  to  be  devoured  by  beasts  would  be  no  unfit  penalty  for  intruding  into  so  wild  a 
scene.     Yet,  in  the    midst   of  this  savagery,  a    squatter's    log-hut,  a   crop  of  stumps  and 


lass  of  bones, 
The  legend 
It  battle  here 
der  mountain- 
the  beetling 
ust  have  used 
any  museum ; 
found  the  de- 
if  a  hospitable 
IS  to  the  facts 
ir !     Some  ru- 

t  on  that  side 
ie  to  the  edge 
ontour  of  the 
h  escaped  the 
the  mountain, 
ing  homeward, 
ead,  while  the 

it — a  narrow 
for  it  extends 
ce  a  spring  of 

traverses  this 
cherontic  pool, 
erceptiblo  at  a 
midsummer  by 
s,  such  is  their 

and  even  the 
iC  and  horrible 
ling  with  stark 
It  hundred  feet 

crush  the  fool- 
ay  is  in  places 
;  place  is  "u'- 
;  and  his  friend 
into  so  wild  a 
of  stumps  and 


356 


PICTURESQUE    AMERICA. 


smoke-grimed  children,  a  dirty  mother  washing  dirtier  linen,  and  a  lank  father,  dirtiest 
of  all,  armed  with  a  gun  of  endless  barrel,  in  search  of  a  perfectly-fresh  dinner,  furnisli 
elements  of  the  ludicrous  which  are  all  the  more  enjoyable  by  contrast  with  the  rugged 
and  gloomy  surroundings. 

Quitting  reluctantly  the  Pass,  we  are  whirled  along  the  new  highway  to  the  West, 
the  Chesapeake  and  Ohio  Railroad,  over  vast  embankments,  through  yawninj  tunnels,  and 
all  along  by  delicious  bits  of  scenery.  The  mountains  close  in  as  if  to  bar  the  way, 
then  flit  behind,  displaying  quiet  meadows  and  charming  vales.  Striped  convicts,  clink- 
ing  at  the  drills,  poise  their  sledges  as  we  pass  to  catch  sight  of  the  very  antithesis  of 
their  restraint — the  rushing  locomotive.  A  girl  in  ample  Dolly  Varden,  and  a  boy  in 
one  garment,  and  that  brief,  at  a  house  on  the  road-side,  suggest  the  union  of  the  two 
extremes  of  Art  and  Nature.  Clifton  Forge  is  our  destination.  We  arrive  as  the  mists, 
slowly  assembling  in  the  hollows,  begin  to  crawl  to  their  rendezvous  on  the  mountain- 
side. Looking  into  the  gap,  a  single  glimpse,  the  blue  is  of  an  intensity  which  the 
artist  would  hardly  dare  to  put  on  his  canvas.  We  find  lodging  at  a  tavern  of  the 
ante-railroad  time,  owned  by  two  bachelor  brothers,  one  of  whom  is  an  original.  He 
tells  us  that  game  is  so  abundant  that  foxes  are  hunted  on  foot  in  the  adjoining  moun- 
tains, and  describes  the  gray  fox  as  more  "  ambiguous "  than  the  red — little  thinicing 
how  expressive  the  term  is ! 

Jackson's  River,  flowing  between  the  sundered  mountains,  unites  two  miles  below 
with  the  Cow- Pasture,  to  form  the  historic  James.  The  stratification  here  is  most  rare 
and  strange,  describing  the  arc  of  a  circle,  and  the  contour  of  the  opposing  faces  on  the 
two  sides  of  the  river  being  so  perfectly  true  that  a  projecting  rock  on  the  one  side 
has,  exactly  opposite,  the  recess  from  which  it  v/as  apparently  torn.  Speculation  as  to 
the  origin  of  this  Angular  formation  must  be  left  to  the  geologists. 

The  arch  rises  two  hundred  feet  above  the  level  of  the  stream,  and  is  known  as 
the  Rainbow  Arch.  The  whole  scene  is  lovely.  Graceful  trees  drooping  over  the  clear 
water,  an  abandon,  i  furnace,  and  the  ruined  piers  of  a  long-swept-away  bridge,  add 
vcrv  much  to  the  t^ruural  picturesqucness  of  the  place.  The  view  in  the  Forge  Gap, 
combining  the  wuck  of  rocks  and  the  ruins  of  man's  handiwork,  with  foregrounds, 
middle-distances,  and  horizon-lines,  finely  balanced  everywhere,  is  surpassingly  beautiful. 
As  you  look  up  at  the  mountains,  or  along  the  stream  which  falls  over  the  dam  (liuilt 
thirty  years  ago,  when  the  forge  was  at  work),  the  grandeur  and  loveliness  of  the  ])ict- 
ure  bear  an  ineffaceable  impression.  Negroes,  and  others  who  ought  to  know  better, 
believe  that  the  cliffs  that  overhang  the  Forge  are  chained  to  the  mountain-side — a  be- 
lief which  grew  out  of  a  playful  remark  made  years  ago  by  our  humorous  host  to  a 
nervous  lady  who  feared  the  rocks  might  crush  the  workmen  employed  by  the  iron 
company  which  then  existed.  The  James  River  and  Kanawha  Canal,  if  ever  finished,  is 
to  pass  through  this  gap. 


ithcr,  dirtiest 

nncr,  furnish 

the  rugged 

o  the  West, 
tunnels,  and 
)ar  the  way, 
nvicts,  clink- 
antithesis  of 
id  a  boy  in 
of  the  two 
as  the  mists, 
e  mountain- 
y  which  the 
ivern  of  the 
riginal.  He 
)ining  moun- 
ttle   thinking 

miles  below 
is  most  rare 
faces  on  the 
the  one  side 
ilation   as  to 

is    known  as 
iver  the  clear 
bridge,   add 
Forge  Gap, 
foregrounds, 
gly  beautiful. 
le  dam  (buih 
of  the  pict- 
know  better, 
n-side — a  be- 
ts   host   to  a 
by  the  iron 
er  finished,  is 


r 


^ 


'/^ 


i 


SCENES   IN    VIRGINIA. 


357 


We  append  to  our  series  of  \'irginia  scenes  a  view  upon  steel  of  the  Chicka- 
hominy.  This  now  historic  stream  was  hardly  known  outside  the  limits  of  the  State 
previous  to  the  war ;  and  yet  there  is  much  that  is  interesting  about  it,  not  only  to 
tlif  lover  of  the  picturesque,  but  to  the  observer  and  student  of  Nature.  The  stream 
IS  a  tributary  to  the  Jamej-.  Its  volume  is  inconsiderable  until  it  nears  Richmond,  and 
it  is  navigable  for  some  twenty-five  or  thirty  miles  only  from  its  junction. 

To  the  physical  geographer  the  Chickahominy  is  interesting,  from  the  fact  that  it  is 
the  northernmost  locality  that  retains  features,  in  its  flora,  which  are  common  on  the  rivers 
of  llie  Carolinas  and  the  States  farther  south,  in  company  with  the  growth  of  the  colder 
Climates.  The  cypress  here  protrudes  its  curious  roots,  and  the  funereal  moss  trails  from 
the  trees.  The  beech  sends  its  horizontal  branches  over  the  darksome  waters ;  the  maples, 
so  brilliant  in  their  autumn  foliage;  and  the  gum-tree,  more  gorgeous  still  at  the  same 
season,  with  its  rich  variations  from  vermilion  to  royal  purple — here  keep  company  with 
the  Southern  interlo[)ers.  Vines  encumber  thj  trees,  and  harassing  bamboo-thickets  bar 
the  way  on  the  higher  hanks.  The  columnar  gum-trees,  in  most  cases,  rise  from  an  inter- 
twined assembly  of  arched  and  knotted  roots,  especially  where  they  are  liable  to  be  washed 
1  y  the  overflow  of  the  stream.  These  arched  bases  have  sometimes  a  clear  distance 
from  the  earth  of  three  and  four  feet,  and  constitute  a  unique  feature  in  the  forest.  Im- 
mense masses  of  di'bris  washed  down  by  the  freshets  lodge  against  the  standing  timber, 
and  the  stream  is  bridged  in  hundreds  of  places  by  the  trees  which  have  lost  their 
equilibrium  from  being  undermined.  The  river  contiguous  to  Richmond  is  invariably 
spoken  of  as  the  (Chickahominy  Swamp  ;  and  here,  in  efTect,  it  is  a  swamp.  The  main 
str'.am  with  its  cofTee-colored  water,  is  well  defined,  but  in  man}-  places,  for  a  (luarter 
of  a  mile  on  both  sides  of  it,  the  ground  is  a  slimy  ooze,  affording  a  very  unstable  foot- 
ing'. Where  this  ooze  exists,  it  is  covered  with  a  dense  growth  of  water-plants,  gen- 
crallv  of  the  peculiar  whitish  gregn  found  in  plants  little  exposed  to  the  light  of  the 
sun. 

The  Chickahominy  is  the  chosen  abode  of  all  the  known  varieties  of  "varmints" 
of  that  region.  The  raccoon  can  here  \>\\  his  trade  of  fisherman  for  the  cat-fish  and 
pike,  or  raid  upon  sleeping  creepers  or  young  wood-ducks.  The  "  possum "  lias  store 
of  gum-berries,  with  tlie  same  variety  in  meat-diet  which  his  conocturnal  f><Kies  ;  otters 
;in-  still  to  be  found  ;  muskrats  innumerable,  and  snakes — some  of  the  acjuatlj  species 
'ic'iuiifully  colored— in  proportion.  The  wood-duck,  of  splendid  plumage,  flits  like  a  pris- 
miiic  ray  over  the  brr)wn  water,  and,  though  wel -footed,  builds  his  nests  in  the  towering 
livis.  In  line,  the  Chickahominy  caimot  fail  to  attract  the  artist  and  naturalist  ;  it 
nlways  would  have  dtme  this,  hut  now  the  added  interest  of  historical  association  brings 
iunulre(U  to  visit  il^  banks;  and  the  stream  which,  heretofore,  had  l)Ut  scanty  mention 
111  tlie  common-school  geography  will  find  a  piice  in  man's  record  beside  the  Ru- 
bicon  and   the   Twocd. 


NEWPORT 


The  Walk  on    ihe   Clia. 


TH  E  oripinal  name  of  the  island  on  which  Newport  stands  was  Acjuidncck,  or  tlic 
"  Isle  of  Peace,"  and  the  present  title  was  piven  to  it  because  of  its  natural  re- 
semblance to  the  Isle  of  Rhodes,  in  the  Mediterranean.  It  is  hard  to  believe  tiiiit, 
more  than  a  hundred  years  ajjo,  this  was,  with  one  exception,  the  most  important  port 
of  entry  in  the  American  colonies,  with  two  hundred  vessels  enfjayed  in  foreijjn  tradr, 
three  or  four  hundred  more  employed  in  distributinjj  the  |iroducts  landed  here  aloiij; 
the  shores  of  our  own  land,  from  Massachusetts  to  Virginia,  supplying;  the  wholesale 
merchants  of  Boston,  Now  York,  and  Philadelphia,  with  their  various  stores,  and  with  a 
rejjular  line  of  packets  running  between  Newport  and  London  — not  less  than  twenty-two 
hundred   seamen  at  one  time    sailing    from   this  harbor.     As    long  ago   as    1728,    Bishn|) 


NEWPORT. 


359 


Berkeley  writes  that  "  New- 
port is  the  most  thrivin<r 
place  in  all  America  for 
bifrness.  I  was  never  more 
agreeably  surprised  than  at 
the  sight  of  the  town  and 
harbor."  In  those  days  New- 
Vorkcrs  were  sometincs 
admonished  that,  if  tney 
only  had  the  enterprise  of 
the  Newporters,  with  their 
natural  facilities,  they  might, 
in  process  of  time,  become 
a  formidable  rival  in  trade 
and  commerce! 

Merchants  built  stately 
mansions  by  the  water-side, 
some  of  which  r.'.ay  still  be 
seen,  with  their  wainscoted 
walls,  mahogany  stairways, 
marble  mantels,  and  tiled 
hreplacc?,  indicative  of  a 
period  when  the  warehouses 
wire  not  sufficient  to  con- 
ain  the  wealth  of  products 
ttiat  was  discharged  at  these 
wliarvcs,  and  the  streets  and 
sidewalks  were  —  a  sore 
temptation  this  must  have 
Ixen  to  the  boys  of  the 
period — often  lined  for  days 
with  the  tropical  fruits  of 
the  Indies.  Cientlemeii  of 
wualth  and  culture  had  their 
country-seats  in  the  vicin- 
ilv  of  the  town,  surround- 
ed by  flower-gardens,  and 
orchards,  and  fish  -  ponds, 
Hid     winding    walks,     and 


36o 


PICTURESQUE    AMERICA. 


other  features   of  luxurious  rural  elegance,  where  the  rich   and   fashionable  gathered  and 
kept  high  revel. 

People  were  attracted  to  the  town,  not  only  bccaus',  of  the  salubrity  of  the  climate 
and  the  beauty  of  the  scenery,  but  also  by  the  fact  that  liberty  of  conscience  rulid 
suprf^me  in  Newi)ort.  Quakers  lived  unmolested  there ;  Baptists  built  their  first  meet- 
ing-house there ;  Calvinists  preached  their  sternest  doctrines  without  offence ;  Hebrews 
crowded  their  commodious  synagogue ;  Moravians  opened  their  lovc-fcasts  to  all  who 
would  pay  their  fourpence-'^a'penny,  distributing  to  each  his  sweet  buns  and  cup  of  choc- 


View  from    I'Drt    Adaiii--. 


olate ;  and  Churchmrn  j)niyed  fervently  for  the  king  and  all  the  royal  family.  Tlu' 
synagogue,  built  in  1762,  stands  to-day  in  as  good  repair  as  it  ever  was,  although  its 
doors  are  rarely  if  ever  opened  for  |)ul)lic  worship  ;  and  old  Trinity  Church,  encted 
nearly  a  century  and  a  half  ago,  with  its  crown -surmounted  spire,  and  huge,  square 
pews,  with  the  wardens'  poles  indicating  where  the  dignitaries  sit,  and  lofty  pulpit,  wilii 
its  hexagonal  sounding-board,  and  reading-i)ew  and  clerk's  seat  jjlanted  far  down  ihe 
aisle,  and  ancient  organ,  presented  by  IJisliop  Berkeley,  ailorncd  with  crown  and  mitre, 
and  the  little  chancel,  denuded  of  nothing  but  the  lion  and  unicorn,  which  were  taken 
from    the  wall   after  the  Revohition    and    burnt   by    patriotic  hands — every    thing   looking 


NEWPORT. 


361 


just  as  it  (lid  when  ancient  gentlemen  in  scarlet  coats,  and  laced  ruffles,  and  silver 
buckles,  and  curled  wigs,  and  ladies  in  their  rich  brocades,  crowded  the  edihce,  and 
reverently  knelt  while  the  priest  prayed,  and  the  sonorous  clerk  acted  as  their  proxy  in 
the  response.  One  portion  of  the  structure,  we  are  glad  t(j  say,  was  long  ago  removed 
—the  two  pens  in  the  organ-loft,  pierced  with  little  funnel-holes,  through  which  the  |)oor 
negroes  deposited  there  might  see,  without  be.ng  seen. 

Fifty  years  ago  Newport  was  a  torpid,  quiet  place,  its  trade  extinct,  the  streets  de- 
serted ;  wharves  that  were  once  vocal  with  busy  traffic  mouldered  away  and  sunk  out 
of  sight    under  the  waters  ;   land  of  no  value  ;   population  reduced  ;   strangers  rarely  fmd- 


The  Drive. 


ing  their  way  to  this  old,  forgotten  town  by  the  sea;  the  houses  weather-worn,  un- 
painted,  and  falling  to  pieces— who  would  then  have  thought  of  investing  his  money 
in  the  desolate  acres  that   fringed  the  borders  of  this  forlorn,  dilapidated   little  village? 

The  Revolution  seemed  to  have  ruined  Newport  bevond  redemption  ;  when  the 
Hritish  troops  evacuated  the  i)lace,  and  the  French  fleet  under  D'Estaing  entered  the 
harbor  in  1780,  it  was  a  desolation.  In  the  course  of  a  few  vears  the  business  of  tlie 
town  had  somewhat  revived,  and,  at  the  beginning  of  the  present  cmiturv,  we  (ind  the 
names  of  several  eminent  "^lerehants  engaged  in  commerce  there,  the  house  ol  Gibbs 
i*<  ('banning  wielding  what    in   those  days  was  regarded  as  an  immense  capital;    but    the 


«i 


362 


PIC  -'^URLSQ  UE    AMERICA. 


second   blow   which    Newport   rc(;eivcd   by   the   embargo   and   the   War   of   1.S12    jjrovcd 
fatal,  and  from  that  period  her  commercial  doom  was  sealed. 

What  Newport  is  to-day  all  the  world  knows.  One  or  two  of  these  desolate, 
rocky  acres  is  now  a  fortune  to  their  possessor.  A  combination  of  attractions  exceeded 
by  no  other  watering-place  on  the  continent  has  once  more  drawn  the  inhabitants  of 
our  towns  and  cities  to  this  spot,  not  for  purj)oses  of  traffic,  but  for  health  and  reciea- 
tion  ;  men  of  culture  and  of  wealth,  foreign  ministers  and  noblemen,  authors  and  poli- 
ticians, clergymen  and  actors,  high-bred  women  of  the  old  school  and  fashionable  women 
of  all  schools,  gather  here  every  season  ;  some  to  lead  a  quiet,  rational,  domestic  life,  and 
some  to  display  their  finery  ;  spacious  hotels  are  crowded  with  visitors,  cottages — ever)- 
thing  here  is  called  a  cottage — of  every  variety  of  architecture,  Swiss,  Gothic,  Frcneh, 
Elizabethan,  and  American,  and  of  every  degree  of  cost,  from  the  humbler  structure  that 
is  rented  for  a  thousand  a  year  up  to  the  stately  mansions  in  which  hundreds  of  iliou- 
sands  are  invested,  line  the  spacious  avenues,  or  nestle  among  the  foliage  in  the  more 
retired  and  quiet  streets  ;  the  grandest  steamers  in  the  world  land  their  passengers  here 
ever)'  morning,  and  smaller  craft  ply  all  the  day  up  and  down  the  Narragansett  shores; 
every  afternoon  Bellevue  is  a  whirl  of  splendid  ecjuipages  ;  night  and  morning,  bands  of 
music  fill  the  air  with  melody,  and  "  all  goes  merry  as  a  marriage-bell."  When  the  chill 
winds  of  autumn  drive  these  summer  residents  back  to  their  city  homes,  the  old  town 
relapses  into  its  winter  sleep — not  as  profound  a  slumber  as  it  slept  for  some  two  or 
three  generationi  for  there  is  always  work  to  be  done  in  preparation  for  the  ne.xt  cam- 
paign— still  it  is  very  quiet ;  wintlows  are  boarded  up,  gates  locked,  some  of  the  more 
fashionable  shops  closed,  and  horses  and  carriages  are  seen  no  more  on  the  broad 
avenues. 

This  is,  in  brief,  the  tlirccfold  aspect  which  Newport  has  presented  during  the  last 
hundred  and  fifty  years.  We  now  turn  to  the  special  points  of  attraction,  as  indicated 
by  our  artist. 

In  entering  Newport  Harbor,  Fort  Adams,  formin"  an  angle  on  the  right-liand 
corner,  presents  to  the  eye  a  singularly  beautiful  and  picturesque  appearance.  Fortress 
Monroe  is  the  onlv  structure  of  the  kind  in  the  United  States  that  exceeds  it  in  size 
and  cost,  and  a  few  years  ago  it  would  have  seemed  as  if  its  massive  walls  must  he 
strong  enpugh  to  resist  any  assault  that  could  be  made  upon  them,  and  its  mul- 
titude of  jionderous  cannon  have  been  too  formidable  to  allow  the  passage  of  any 
ship  that  floated  into  the  waters  of  the  Narragansett  Bay.  But  guns  have  recently 
been  constructed  that  would  send  this  granite  pile,  with  its  bastions  and  battlements, 
flying  into  tiu'  air  like  broken  crockery  ;  so  that  its  use,  as  a  citadel  of  defence,  is  at 
an  end.  .\t  the  same  time  the  necessity  of  such  a  |)rotection  against  the  attacks  of  a 
hostile  fleet -has  ceased;  just  under  the  guns  of  the  fort  lies  what  is  known  as  Torpedo 
Island,  where   scientific    men   are    now    making  and    testing   a   new  submarine   projectile, 


iring  tlic  lasi 
as   indicatcid 

If  ri/^rht-inind 
ICC.  FortR'ss 
;ds  it  in  size 
alls  mii^l  lie 
111(1  its  imil- 
sajrc  ol'  :inv 
ave    recently 

battlements, 
ieCence,  is  at 
attacks  of  a 

as  Torjiedo 


ii|i'WPffliii'w»'f'ira!!!5!!!iiiii;i!Piii!iiiiii!!iiiilw 


vl 


*•*. 


i".'i!!.','/i-tJ"JL'!i'l|iiiii'  I' 


i!ll!i:!Lii:i!uU!ii!L!ii'i'' 


364 


PICTURESQUE    AMERICA. 


wliicli  no  precaution  can  liindcr  from  tin(lin<j  its  way  to  tiic  liccl  of  any  ship  th  . 
ventures  near  the  shore,  and  blowinf^  it  to  fragments.  The  morning  and  evening  gun 
may  continue  to  salute  the  break  and  tlic  close  of  the  day  for  many  years  to  come, 
tiie  Stars  and  Stripes  to  lloat  over  the  fortress,  the  soldiers  to  keep  watch  and  ward 
upon  the  walls,  but  it  will  no  more  be  regarded  as  a  stronghold  of  defence — only  as  an 
interesting  relic  of  the  past. 

Fort  Adams  is  a  flivorite  place  of  resort  with  the  summer  residents  of  Newport, 
especialh-  on  tlic  afternoons  when  the  regimental  band  plays,  and  the  dashing  down  of 
carriages  and  tlie  clatter  of  hoofs  over  the  steep,  stone  declivity  under  the  frowning  arch- 
way which  opens  into  the  spacious  parade-ground,  covering  a  space  of  eleven  acres,  and 
the  roll  of  vehicles  around  the  broad,  circular  drive  that  surrounds  the  enclosure,  mak';  a 
pleasing  change  from  the  somewhat  dull  and  monotonous  military  routine  to  which  the 
ofTicers  and  soldiers  arc  subjected.  The  amount  of  money  that  has  been  expended  here 
by  the  government — more  than  a  million  and  a  half  of  dollars — makes  it  a  very  costlv 
place  of  amusement,  and  might  have  been  spent  more  profitably ;  but  amusement  is 
better  than  carnage,  and,  if  these  modern  improvements  in  the  science  t)f  war  should 
put  an  end  to  all  strife,  none  will  mourn. 

Entering  the  harbor,  on  the  left  your  eye  rests  upon  a  small,  oval  fort,  gray,  time- 
worn,  and  dilapidated,  standing  on  the  island  of  Conanicut,  and  known  by  the  somewhat 
inexpressive  name  of  "  Dumpling."  ,\  controversy  is  now  pending  in  regard  to  the  date 
of  its  erection,  some  persons  contending  that  it  was  built  long  before  the  Revolution, 
while  others  believe  that  it  was  thrown  up  by  the  British  at  the  period  when  their 
troops  occupied  Rhode  Island.  The  first  historical  notice  of  its  existence  is  found  in  a 
letter  addressed  by  General  Pigot,  commander  of  the  Fuiglish  forces,  to  Sir  Henry  Clin- 
ton, in  which  he  says  that  "  the  guns  of  Beaver  Tail  and  Dumpling  are  unserviceable,  as 
the  French  fleet  entering  the  harbor  would  cut  olT  comm  .nication  with  Conanicut."  The 
date  of  this  letter  is  i77tS.  The  fort  has  been  left  for  many  years  to  the  corroding  wear 
and  tear  of  the  elements,  but,  while  the  interior  works  have  been  gradually  destroyed, 
the  outer  walls  remain  as  complete  and  firm  as  they  ever  were.  As  a  means  of  defence 
it  would  be  of  little  service  in  these  days,  however  thoroughly  it  might  be  manned,  for 
one  of  our  modern  shells  dropped  into  the  centre  would-  blow  the  whole  affair  to  frag- 
ments. Compared  with  Fort  Adams,  one  of  the  largest  and  most  completely  equi|)|)ed 
defences  on  our  shores,  which,  with  its  massive  walls  and  long  rows  of  guns,  frowns 
upon  Dumpling  from  the  opposite  side  of  the  bay,  this  little  tower  looks  somewhat  in- 
significant ;  but,  as  a  picturesque  ruin,  it  has  its  charms,  and  has  become  a  favorite 
pla-e  of  resort  for  pleasure-parties,  who  cook  their  fish  and  bake  their  clams  on  the 
s])ot  that  once  resounded  to  the  thunder  of  artillery.  For  a  century  the  winds  have 
beat  upon  the  old  fort;  the  Cross  of  St.  George  has  waved  over  it;  the  French  fleet 
swept    round    it    as   the  vessels    moved    up   to   their  winter-anchorage  in   the    harbor;  the 


OLD     FORT     DUMPLINO 


366 


PICTURESQUE    AMERICA. 


\\:.         I 


Stripes  and  the  Stars  lon<r  atro  supj)lantc(l  the  British  ensij^n  ;  it  is  more  veneraliU:  ilum 
the  Re|)ublic  ;  and  we  trust  that  it  will  be  left  undisturbed  for  ages,  as  it  is  one  of  the 
few  memorials  in  existence  of  our  early  history,  and  may  do  something  to  take  away  tiic 
reproach  brought  against  us  by  our  brethren  over  the  sea  that  we  have  no  ruins  in  the 
United  States.  i, 

Brenton's  Cove  is  approached  by  a  causeway  leading  to  Fort  Adams,  and  alTdrds 
one  of  the  finest  views  that  can  be  obtained  of  Newport :  "  Tiie  tall  and  delicate  spires 
of  the  churches  cut  sharp  against  the  blue  sky ;  the  public  buildings  stand  out  in  noble 
relief;  and  the  line  of  houses,  as  they  rise  one  above  another  on  the  hill-side,  is  l)r()ken 
by  open  grounds  and  clusters  of  shade-trees.  Each  spot  on  which  the  eye  may  cliance 
to  rest  recalls  some  event  that  happened  there  in  earlier  times."  Looking  out  from 
this  cove,  you  might  once  have  seen  poor  Burgoyne  sailing  for  England  after  his  sad 
defeat ;  Cook's  femous  ship  Endeavor  was  condemned,  dismantled,  and  left  to  (Ucay 
upon  these  shores  ;  the  Macedonian,  prize  of  the  frigate  United  States,  was  brought  to 
anchor  here ;  the  British  fleet,  under  Lord  Howe,  and  the  French  fleet,  under  D'Estaing, 
both  sailed  bv  tliis  rocky  ccve,  one  bringing  misery  and  the  other  joy  to  the  hearts 
of  the  old  inhabitants  of   Rhode  Island, 

Taking  the  road  leading  west,  we  pass  what  remains  of  the  house  built  by  Gov- 
ernor William  Brenton,  through  grounds  that  were  in  his  '  "  adorned  with  rare  and 
costly   plants,  gravel-walks,  groves  and    bowers,  and    all   t!.  1th    and    a   refined  taste 

could  furnish,"  until  we  come  upon  the  southern  shore,  where  Lirenton's  Reef  stretches 
for  a  mile  or  more  into  the  sea. 

In  the  picture  all  is  placid  and  serene ;  but,  when  the  breakers  dash  upon  that  fatal 
reef,  and  the  strong  waves  whiten  its  jagged  ridge,  it  is  a  place  of  terror.  Many  a  ves- 
sel has  been  wrecked  there ;  and  the  mouldering  gravestones  along  the  edge  of  the  ocean 
show  where  the  bodies  of  the  drowned  sailors  were  once  buried.  Why  they  should  have 
been  deposited  there,  where  the  winds  and  the  waves  sound  a  perpetual  dirge,  and  ihe 
spray  of  the  ocean  always  dampens  the  sods  which  cover  them,  instead  of  being  taken 
to  some  rural  ground,  where  the  birds  sing  and  flowers  bloom,  we  do  not  know.  Xo 
doubt  they  were  buried  by  the  hands  of  strangers,  and  perhaps,  after  all,  this  was  the 
most  fitting  place  for  their  bodies  to  rest ;  and  many  a  solemn  thought  has  been  sug- 
gested by  these  humble  memorial-stones  to  the  gay  crowds  who  drive  by,  as  the  sum- 
mer sun  is  sinking  in  the  horizon. 

Following  the  southern  shore,  we  next  come  to  what  is  known  as  the  S])outiiig- 
Rock.  After  a  southeasterly  storm,  the  apparatus  is  in  working-order;  and,  during  the 
"season,"  multitudes  assemble  there  to  see  the  intermittent  .'ountain  play.  The  construc- 
tion of  the  opening  beneath  is  such  that,  when  it  is  nearly  filled  and  a  heavy  wave 
comes  rolling  in,  the  pent-up  waters  can  find  relief  only  by  discharging  theinselvcs 
through  a  sort   of  funnel  into  the  air.      It  is,  however,  a  somewhat   treacherous  operator: 


(■ncrablc  than 

is  one  of  the 

like  away  the 

ruins  in  the 


P«l 


BRENTON'S    COVE. 


■■.■^is^J%^-.rA'iW- 


I  k' 


-s68 


PICTURESOUH    AMERICA. 


for  a  long  time  there  may  be  no  spouting  done ;  and,  even  when  the  waves  roll  in  Iroin 
the  rigi.t  quarter,  it  is  not  easy  to  tell  just  when  the  liorn  intends  to  blow.  If  the  inter- 
esting couple  depicted  in  our  sketch  remain  standing  much  longer  where  they  are,  before 
they  know  it  the  fountain  may  spout  up  some  forty  or  fifty  feet,  and  they  will  go  home 
with  drenched  clothes  and  a  wot  skin.  But  the  ocean-view  is,  at  this  spot,  so  indescriba- 
bly grand  after  a  storm,  that  the  temptation  to  linger  as  near  the  edge  of  the  rocks  as 
|»ossible  is  almost  irresistible,  and  we  have  seen  many  a  gay  company  pay  the  watery 
penalty. 

Beyi  x}.  the  bathing-beach,  where  hundreds  of  fashionable  people  may  be  seen  dash- 
ing about  in  the  waves  on  every  pleasant  day,  rise  the  precipitous  rocks,  with  the  deep 
and  sharp-lined  fissure,  known  as  "The  Purgatory."  How  it  ever  came  to  be  called  by 
this  singular  name,  tradition  does  not  inform  us.  A  little  beyond  this  chasm,  there  is  a 
pleasant  spot,  shaded  by  trees,  rnd  commanding  a  beautiful  view,  which  is  known  as 
"Paradise" — so  that,  when  a  stranger  in  that  region  asks  the  way,  he  is  likely  to  be  told 
that  he  must  pass  by  Purgatory  to  Paradise. 

The  opening  in  the  clitf  extends  one  hundred  and  si.xty  feet,  and  is  fifty  feet  deep 
at  the  outer  edge.  It  is  from  eight  to  fourteen  feet  wide  at  the  top,  and  from  two  tii 
twenty  at  the  bottom.  It  was  once  supposed  that  the  water  at  the  base  was  unfathom- 
able ;   but  at  low  tide  it  is  ai  iually  not  more  than  ten  feet  in  de|)th. 

It  was  formerly  the  prevailing  theory  that  this  fissure  was  occasioned  by  a  sudden 
upheaving  of  the  rock ;  but,  afti  -  careful  examination.  Professor  Silliman  came  to  tin 
opinion  that  it  was  probably  formed  by  the  gradual  eating  away  of  the  softer  jiortions 
of  the  stone  at  a  very  early  period. 

Like  most  places  of  the  kind.  Purgatory  has  its  legends. 

Some  little  time  after  tlie  settlement  of  the  country  by  the  whites,  an  Indian  womin 
murdered  one  of  the  colonists,  in  reveng"  for  certain  wrongs  inflicted  upon  her  piople. 
Walking,  one  day,  near  Purgatory,  she  was  accosted  by  a  person,  appearing  to  bi'  a  wtll- 
dressed  Englishman,  wlio  proposed  to  fight  with  iier.  The  stout  squaw  was  not  imwill- 
ing  to  accept  the  challenge,  and  in  the  struggle  she  was  gradually  dragged  toward  the 
edge  of  the  chasm,  when  her  op|)onent  seized  her  in  his  arms,  and  leaped  iiilo  ihi 
abyss.  At  this  moment  the  cloven  foot  apj)eared,  his  goodly  garments  fell  off,  and  he 
was  revealed  in  his  true  Satanic  personality.  Why  the  devil  should  have  felt  himself 
called  upon  to  interfere  in  this  way  to  punish  the  woman  for  the  wrong  that  she  had 
done  to  the  English  settlers,  does  not  appear;  but,  as  the  p.int  of  his  feet  and  marks 
of  blood  are  still  visible  on  th  atones,  it  is  not  for  us  to  gainsay  the  slorv.  At  anv 
rate,  it  is  easy  to  see  that  such  u  belief  on  the  part  of  the  Indians  might  have  tended 
to  promote  general  security. 

Another  legend  pertaining  to  this  spot  is  not  (juite  so  tragical,  and  |)erhaps  (an 
be  better   authenticated.      A    beautiful   but  giddy  girl,  heircs.s   to   a   large  estate,  had  for 


d  by  a  sudden 
I  came  to  the 
softer   [jortions 


THF.    8POUTINO    CAVE. 


370 


PICTURESQUE    AMERICA. 


some  time  received  special  attentions  from  a  young  man,  in  all  respects  her  equal,  and 
whose  aTcction,  notwithstanding  appearances  to  the  contrary,  she  warmly  reciprocated  in 
her  heart.  But  the  passion  for  coquetry  was  so  strong  with  her,  that  she  could  never 
resist  the  temptation  to  torment  her  admirer;  and,  one  day,  as  they  stood  together  on 
the  brink  of  Purgatory,  and  he  was  pleading,  with  impassioned  eloquence,  for  some 
pledge  or  token  of  love  from  her,  she  said,  "  I  will  be  your  wife  if  you  will  show  the 
earnestness  of  your  devotion  to  me,  and  your  readiness  to  obey  all  my  wishes,  by  leap- 
ing' across  this  abyss."  Without  a  moment's  hesitation,  the  young  man  sprang  to  the 
other  side  of  the  rock,  and  then,  politely  lifting  his  hat,  he  complimented  the  beautiful 
girl  upon  her  charms,  told  her  candidly  what  he  thought  of  her  character,  bade  her  final 
adieu,  and  she  saw  his  face  no  more.  After  this,  as  the  tale  runs,  she  went  mourning 
all  her  days. 

It  is  not  to  be  presumed  that  this  is  the  scene  which  our  artist  intended  to  portrav 
in  his  sketch ;  for,  although  the  young  damsel  seen  there  is  coquettish  enough  in  liei 
appearance  for  almost  any  thing  unreasonanle,  the  aspect  of  her  companion  is  certainh 
not  very  suggestive  of  foolhardy  courage — to  say  nothing  of  the  absolute  impossibility 
of  his  being  able  to  leap  the  opening  at  'he  point  which  this  interesting  couple 
occupy. 

"Berkeley's  Seat"  is  in  i'aradise,  within  easy  walking-distance  of  the  house  which  he 
built  anel  occupied  nearly  a  century  and  a  half  ago.  Out  of  regard  to  the  memory  of 
Charles  1.,  to  whom  he  was  indel)ted  for  certain  favors,  he  called  his  place  Whitehall 
one  of  the  palaces  occupied  by  the  king.  It  is  still  standing,  and  in  good  re|)air 
There  is  the  room  which  he  occupied  as  a  study,  with  its  tiled  fire-jambs,  and  low  ccilini; 
and  undulating  floor,  and  the  little  chamber  where  he  slept;  and  it  is  pleasant  to  think 
that,  in  tiie  sunny  court-yard  adjoining,  he  once  walked — perhaps  discussing  willi  hi-- 
friends  the  state  policy  of  Walpole,  or  the  probable  future  of  the  new  Western  land, 
"  whither  the  course  of  empire "  had  already  begun  "  to  take  its  way,"  or  the  medical 
virtues  of  tar-wat'  r,  or  it  may  lie  some  of  the  profounder  problems  of  the  soul  wliieh 
occupied  his  thoughts.  When  the  weathtT  was  favorable,  le  betook  himself  to  the  ^lul 
tered  opening  in  I'aradise  Rocks,  which  is  now  consecrated  by  his  name.  This  lie  i'- 
said  to  have  titli-d  up  with  chairs  and  a  tai)ie ;  and  tradition  says  that  it  was  in  thi- 
rocky  cave  he  wrote  his  "  Minute  Philosopher."  With  the  broad  e.xpanse  of  ocean  befon 
hinv  and  its  monotonous  roll  soun<ling  in  his  ear,  it  may  be  that  he  was  able  to  ^iv( 
his  thoughts  a  wi<ler  range,  and  hx  them  more  intently  upon  the  subtile  questions  whieli 
he  was  so  fond  of  contemplating,  than  was  possible  in  the  |)cnt-up  little  room  where  In 
kept  his  books;  and  it  may  have  In-en  easier  for  him  to  bring  his  mind  to  the  conelii- 
sion  that  there  is  nothing  in  the  universe  but  aoul  and  forrt-nvt  organic  substance,  w> 
gross  matter,  nothing  but  phenomena  and  relations  and  impressions — than  it  would  be  if 
he  were  shut  in  by  doors  and  walls,  and  nearer  to  his  kitchen. 


v   t.. 


:r  equal,  and 
:iprocattd  in 
could  never 
together  on 
:e,  for  some 
n\\  show  the 
ihcs,  by  leap- 
prang  to  the 
the  beautiful 
lade  her  final 
:nt   mourninf; 

ed  to  portray 
lOUgh  in  liei 
n  is  certainh 
impossihilitv 
L'Sting   c()ii|)k 

use  which  he 
c  memory  ol 
ce  Whitehall 

good  repair. 
d  low  ceilinj:, 
sant  to  think 
iiig  with  hi^ 
V'cstern   land, 

the   medical 
e  soul  which 

to  the  shel- 
This  he  is 

was   in   ihi^ 

ocean  before 

able  to  give 
estions  wliith 

Ml  wheie  h( 

the  conclii- 

snbstance,  no 

would  be  if 


I       il 


HUROATOHY. 


372 


PICTURESQUE    AMERICA. 


This  portion  of  the  island  does  not  lie  within  the  boundaries  of  the  city  of  New. 
port,  havinjj  l)cen  set  off,  many  years  ago,  in  order  to  avoid  the  taxes,  and  is  now- 
known  as  Middletown.  it  was,  however,  the  Newport  of  IJerkeley,  chosen  by  liini  as  a 
residence  because  of  its  superior  fertility  as  well  as  natural  beauty,  for  the  good  dean 
was  something  of  a  farmer  as  well  as  metaphysician.     This  southeastern  shore  has  hcre- 


Distanl  View   nf   I'urgatory. 


toforc  been  little  resorted  to  by  strangers,  and  few  persons  have  as  yet  made  ii  iluir 
summer  residence;  but  the  recent  opening  of  new  roads  leading  directlv  to  the  town, 
and  the  construction  of  broad  avenues  which  intersect  tlie  whole  region,  and  which  will 
soon  be  lined  with  shade-trees,  must,  before  long,  transform  the  scene,  and  make  this  a 
favorite  resort  for  visitors.  Here  are  three  miles  of  drive  over  a  rich  and  lu.xuii.int 
sward,  that   does  not  retjuire  an  inch  of  grading,  bending  down  toward  a  shore  divtrsi- 


m 
11,  f 

i 

••BERKELEY'3    SEAT.' 


374 


PICTURESQUh    AMERICA. 


Ill 


I 


fied  by  picturesque  rocks  and  groves  and  sandy  beaches,  where  you  look  out  toward  the 
southeast  on  the  broad  ocean,  and  northward  upon  the  interior  country — a  combination 
oj'  attractions  found  perhaps  nowhere  else  upon  our  coast,  and  which,  in  process  of  time, 
will  lead  multitudes,  who  desire  retirement  and  quiet,  with  all  the  pure  delights  that 
come  of  a  salubrious  atmosphere  and  beautiful  scenery,  to  build  their  houses  and  plant 
their  gardens  here. 

In  the  following  strains  Mr.  Longfellow  tells  how  "the  Viking  old"  found   his  way 
from  "the  wild   Baltic's  strand"  to   our   strange   shores,  and   built   here  "the  lofty  tower" 

by  the  sea,  commonly  known  as  "  the  old  stone-mill  : " 

f 

"Three  weeks  we  westward  bore. 
And,  when  the  storm  was  o'er, 
C"loud-Iike  we  saw   the  shore 

Stretching  to  leeward  ; 
There  for  my  hidy's  bower 
lUiilt  1  the  lofty  tower, 
Which,  to  this  very  hour, 
Stands  looking  seaward." 

W'e  wish  that  we  could  believe  in  our  hav'.ig  so  respectable  a  piece  of  antiquity  in 
Rhoc'e  Island.  Inasmuch  as  this  interesting  and  unique  structure  dates  back  to  the 
prehistjric  times  of  the  colony,  nt.  record  of  its  construction  being  in  existence,  and,  still 
further,  as  it  has  a  close  resemblance  to  certain  edifices  still  existing  in  Northern  Europe 
many  have  been  willing  to  accept  the  trailition  that  it  must  be  of  Danish  origin.  One 
theory  is,  that  this  old  ruin  was  originally  an  appendage  to  a  temple,  and  used  foi 
religious  oflices,  as  a  baptistery.  Others  su|)pose  that  it  was  erected  as  a  tower  of 
defence,  and  that,  after  the  walls  had  crumbled  until  they  were  reduced  to  their  present 
height,  a  wooden  mill  was  erected  on  the  summit. 

The  lirst  authentic  notice  of  the  edifice  is  found  in  the  will  of  a  Mr.  Henedict 
Arnold,  dated  1677,  in  which  he  becjueaths  his  "stone-built  windmill"  to  his  luiis. 
About  the  middle  of  the  last  century  it  was  surmounted  by  a  circular  roof;  and  one  of 
the  old  inhabitants,  in  a  deposition  signed  in  1734,  says,  "It  is  even  remembered  that, 
when  the  change  of  wind  retjuired  that  the  wings,  with  the  top,  should  be  turned  round, 
it  took  a  yoke  of  oxen  to  do  it."  There  is  abundant  tradition  to  show  that  it  has  ixrn 
used  for  various  purposes ;  and  a  hundred  and  fifty  years  ago  it  was  known  as  the  Pow- 
der-Mill — the  boys,  as  late  as  1764,  sometimes  finding  jiowder  in  the  i  revices ;  and,  at  a 
later  period,  it  was  used  as  a  hay-mow.  It  is  somewhat  singular  that  such  a  substantial 
and  peculiar  structure  should  have  been  erected  simply  as  a  windmill,  bui  this  may  lie 
explained  by  the  facts  that  the  first  wooden  mill  was  blown  down  in  a  great  storm  that 
occurred  in  1675;  that  Governor  Arnold  was  unpopular  with  the  Indians,  and  would  Iw 
likely  to  build  a  mill  that  would  withstand  both  storm  and  fire,  and  look  like  a  fort  at 


'^^ 


NEWPORT. 


375 


least ;  and,  still  further,  he  may  have  seen  old  mills  in  England  of  the  same  style — there 
beiiiir  an  engraving  in  the  Penny  Magazine,  of  1836,  of  one  near  Leamington,  which  is 
the  very  counterpart  of  the  Newport  mill.  The  various  traditions  connected  with  this 
old  relic  impart  to  it  a  special  interest;  and,  unless  it  is  upheaved  by  the  earthquake 
or  demolished  by  lightning,  it  is  likely  to  stand  for  many  generations. 


Cumiiiii.lDri-   IVrrys  Malue  and  the  "OKI  Mill." 


At  a  little  distance  from  the  old  Stone  Mill,  on  the  easterly  side  of  the  public 
sijuare,  stands  the  statue  of  Commodore  Matthew  Calbraith  Perry,  erected  by  liis  son- 
in-law,  Mr.  Iklmont.  The  material  is  bronze;  and  the  accurate  proportions,  the  graceful 
altitude,  the  well-disposed  drapery,  and  the  speaking  likeness,  combine  to  give  this  statue 
1  high  place  among  our  works  of  art.  It  would  be  well  if  Mr.  IJehnont's  example 
''liould  be  followed  by  other  wealthy  citizens  of  our  republic. 


376 


PICTURESQUE    AMERICA, 


We  have  now  glanced  at  Newport  as  it  was  a  hundred  years  ago,  as  it  was  fifty 
years  ago,  and  as  it  is  to-day.  What  will  be  its  appearance  fifty  years  hence  ?  The 
streets  of  the  older  part  of  the  town  may  continue  to  be  as  narrow  as  ever;  and, 
unless  a  wide-spread  conflagration  should  sweep  them  away,  the  ancient  wooden  ht)usis 
may  crowd  upon  the  gutters,  as  they  have  always  done ;  the  venerable  stone-mill  will 
stand  in  its  place,  a  monument  of  the  prehistoric  ages  of  Newport ;  Trinity  Church,  we 
trust,  will  be  undisturbed,  whether  the  congregation  abide  by  its  courts  or  not;  the  Jew- 
ish Synagogue  is  secured  from  ruin  by  a  perpetual  endowment ;  the  port-holes  of  I'ort 
Adams  may  still  show  their  iron  teeth,  unless,  indeed,  the  advance  of  military  science 
should  have  made  all  such  stone  fortresses  unserviceable,  or  the  universal  dominion  of  the 
doctrines  of  peace — which  God,  in  his  mercy,  grant  ! — have  swept  them  all  away. 

The  natural  features  of  the  region  will  remain  unchanged ;  the  same  rocks  will 
frown  upon  the  sea;  the  same  purple  haze  rest  at  eventide  upon  the  land-locked  harbor; 
the  same  veil  of  ocean-mist  temper  the  brightness  of  the  noontide  sun,  and  tide  rise  and 
fall  on  the  sandy  beach  with  the  same  rhythmical  flow;  the  storm  thunder  with  the 
same  loud  turbulence ;  but,  meanwhile,  what  changes  will  the  hand  of  man  have  wrought  ? 
Within  the  last  twenty  years  miles  upon  miles  of  barren  pasture  have  been  converted 
in'i)  lawns  and  gardens  and  verdant  groves;  millions  have  been  expended  in  the  erection 
of  beautiful  villas  and  stately  palaces;  the  tide  of  population  has  set  in  like  a  flood; 
and  such  are  the  peculiar  advantages  which  Nature  has  bestowed  upon  this  lovely  s])(ii 
that  no  ca|)rice  of  fashion  can  ever  turn  back  or  arrest  the  How  of  its  prosperity.  Re- 
gions now  unoccupied  will  soon  be  covered  with  habitations;  the  summer  popukilion 
will  spread  itself  all  over  the  southern  |)ortion  of  the  island,  from  east  to  west,  and  then 
crowd  back  into  the  interior,  until  the  whole  area  from  south  to  north  is  made  a  garden 
of  beauty.  Newport  will  never  again  become  a  busy  mart  of  traffic ;  its  ancient  com- 
merce will  never  return  there;  the  manufiictures  which  have  made  "the  Providence  Plan 
tations"  so  rich  will  never  flourish  in  "the  Isle  of  Peace,"  for  the  soft  and  somewhat 
enervating  climate  is  not  conducive  to  enterprise  and  activity ;  but  those  who  need  relief 
from  the  high-strung  excitement  of  American  life,  the  merchant  who  wants  rest  from  his 
cares,  statesmen  and  writers  who  would  give  their  brains  repose,  will  find  it  hen,  '\\k 
men  of  our  land,  above  all  f)thers,  require  some  such  place  of  resort,  to  allay  li."  levnish 
activity  of  their  lives — a  place  where  they  may  come  together  periodically,  not  for  diliile, 
and  controversy,  and  labor,  and  (ranic,  but  for  pleasant  talk,  and  rational  recreation,  and 
chastened  conviviality.  They  need  to  dwell  where,  for  a  part  of  the  year,  they  can  see 
the  sun  rise  anil  set,  and  scent  the  flowers,  and  look  out  upon  the  waters.  This  green 
island  seems  to  have  been  made  by  a  kind  Provider  e  for  such  uses  as  these,  where 
men  may  forget  their  cares  and  cease  from  their  toils,  and  behold  the  wondrous  works 
of  God,  and  give  him  thanks. 


ill 


Arched    Strata. 


T  X  looking  at  tlic  maj)  of  West  XHrginia,  we  may  observe  that  its  central  regions  arc 
*-  so  hatched  and  corrugated  with  the  shadows  of  mountains,  so  scril)hlcd  over  with 
iwisiii!  and  meandering  lines  representing  the  water-courses,  that  it  is  (iiflicult  to  trace, 
amiii  these  topographical  entanglements,  the  lighter  lines  and  dots  which  should  indicate 
the  highways  and  centres  of  population,  or  to  collect  together  into  words  even  the  hold 
c;i|)itals  which  tell  us  the  names  of  the  counties.  Now,  fortunately  for  the  ma|)-makers, 
the  mountains  and  rivers  have  the  field  pretty  much  to  themselves,  and  there  is  little 
tisc.  in  reality,  to  perplex  the  student's  eye. 

Vcl  the  adventurous  traveller  who  undertakes  to  explore  this  shadowy  realm  in  per- 
son will  he  amazed  to  find  how  far  the  geographical  picture  has  fallen  short  nl  ihe 
savage  and  tremendous  reality.  In  its  untrodden  wilds  he  will  frnd  himself  liewildeied 
with  diiriculties  he  never  dreamed  of,  and  sometimes  confronted  with  dangers  he  had  not 
provided  against.     I'ar  heyond  the  range  of  pleasure-seeking  tourists,  he  will   lie  often  sur- 


IN    WEST    VIRGINIA. 


ILLUSTRATIONS   DRAWN    HV    W.    L.    SHEPfAKl).    KKOM    SKETCHES    liV    DAVID    II.    STROTHER 


378 


PICTURESQUE    AMERICA. 


prised  with  scenes  whose  beauty  would  charm  an  artist  into  ecstasies,  whose  sublitnitv 
might  awe  a  poet  into  silence.  Unversed  in  the  explorations  of  interested  science,  he 
may  bark  his  shins  over  fossil  specimens  which  would  throw  Wall  Street  into  a  fever, 
and  stoop  to  slake  his  thirst  at  mineral  fountains  whose  healing  virtues  might  alarm  the 
solemn  quackery  of  our  medical  professors.  In  districts  as  yet  inaccessible  to  industry 
and  commerce  he  will  see  the  earth  encumbered  with  the  crude  materials  which  consti- 
tute the  solid  wealth  and  power  of  nations.  Let  every  sturdy  doubter  go  and  sec  for 
himself!  Vet  there  arc  many  who  would  shrink  from  a  personal  encounter  with  the 
wilderness,  and  others,  perhaps,  whose  jealous  occupations  deny  the  needful  leisure  for 
the  exploration.  Let  these  betake  themselves  to  easy-chairs  and  slippers,  snufTmjj  thr 
mountain-air  in  fancy  through  a  hot-house  nosegay,  or  the  more  virile  fumes  of  a  meer- 
schaum pipe,  and  thus  follow  our  leading  through  one  of  the  most  civilized,  easily 
accessible,  and  curiously  picturesque,  of  these  mountain-districts. 

For  the  sake  of  convenience  and  a  pleasant  starting-point,  we  will  rendezvous  at 
the  Berkeley  Springs,  a  famous  summer  resort  near  Sir  John's  Station,  on  the  Balti- 
more and  Ohio  Railroad.  Thence,  by  a  good  graded  road,  on  wheels  or  horseback,  ai 
may  be  preferred,  we  can  in  two  days'  easy  travel  reach  Moorfie'd,  seventy-five  miles 
distant. 

In  skipping  thus  lightly  over  our  preliminary  journey,  it  must  not  be  supposed  that 
we  have  seen  nothing  worthy  of  remark  by  the  way.  On  the  contrary,  the  entire  route 
abounds  in  objects  of  interest  and  beauty.  We  have  seen  the  imposing  cliffs  of  Candy's 
Castle,  at  the  crossing  of  the  north  fork  of  Cacapon  River.  A  few  miles  distant,  on 
the  same  stream,  is  the  flimous  natural  ice-house  called  the  Ice  Moi'ntain.  Then,  at 
Romncy,  we  have  the  Hanging  Rock  and  the  view  from  the  yellow  banks ;  and,  forther 
on,  we  pass  through  Mill-Sjiring  Gap,  and  wonder  at  the  long,  regularly-scalloped  ridge 
q{  the  Trough  Mountain,  resembling  a  row  of  potato-hills;  then  under  the  impending 
cliffs  at  the  Northern  Gate,  and  finally  the  first  glimpse  of  the  great  South-Branch  \'al- 
ley,  stretching  around  Moorfield.  All  these,  and  twenty  others  that  we  have  passed  in 
our  journey,  are  pictures  to  adorn  an  artist's  portfolio,  and  to  impress  a  tourist's  memory. 
Vet,  as  we  feel  that  neither  pen  nor  pencil,  nor  both  combined,  can  cope  with  Nature  all 
in  full  light,  in  arranging  our  scenic  drama,  we  arc  constrained  to  leave  many  subor- 
dinate  beauties  in  shadow  or  demi-tint,  that  our  feeble  art  may  be  enabled  to  exhibit 
tiic  selected  points  more  effectively.  Yet  we  cannot  conscientiously  turn  away  from  llic 
scene  immediately  around  us  without  something  more  than  a  passing  word ;  for,  wbiie 
we  may  meet  with  many  objects  whose  rugged  and  startling  features  bring  them  more 
readily  within  the  power  of  the  graphic  arts,  we  shall  see  nothing  in  our  travels  more 
softly  and   magnetically  beautiful,  to  soul  and  eye,  than   this  same  valley  of  Moorfield. 

The  South  Branch  of  the  Potomac  has  its  sources  in  the  county  of  Highland,  and, 
after  a  comparative  course  of  about  one  hundred  miles,  running  from  southwest  to  north- 


p^ 


IN    WEST    VIRGINIA. 


379 


east,  and  parallel  with  the 
(Treat  mountain  -  ranges,  it 
joins  the  North  Branch  in 
Hampshire  County,  some 
fifty  miles  below  Moor- 
field.  Its  upper  waters  flow 
ill  til  I  CO  principal  streams, 
called  respectively  the  South, 
Middle,  and  North  Forks, 
the  channels  of  which,  like 
that  of  the  main  river,  are 
bordered  by  extensive  al- 
luvial levels  of  extraordi- 
nary fertility,  alternating 
with  narrow,  sharp  -  cut 
gorges  domineered  by  bare, 
perpendicular  clifTs  of  sub- 
lime height  and  picturesque 
forms. 

After  the  junction  of 
its  chief  tributaries,  and 
about  midway  of  its  coun;e, 
the  river  leaves  the  shadow 
of  the  mountains,  and  winds 
majestically  with  its  double- 
fringed  borders  through  an 
uni)roken  stretch  of  bot- 
tom-lands, eleven  miles  in 
length  by  three  in  breadth, 
lying,  like  a  magnificent 
billiard-table,  cushioned  with 
mountain  -  ranges  of  grace- 
ful outlines  and  exquisite 
coloring,  and  rising  to  the 
imposing  height  of  fifteen 
and  eighteen  hundred  feet. 
This  rich  and  verdant  plain 
is  mapped  into  fields  and 
farms  of    manorial    propor- 


i 


!.::* 


38o 


PICTURESQUE   AMERICA. 


tions,  and  dottod  over  with  doiiblo-brick,  tin-roofod  houses  and  herds  of  stately  cattle, 
betokening  a  land  of  easy  wealth  and  old-fashioned  abundance.  Like  the  queen  of 
this  flit  realm,  the  pretty  village  of  Moorlield  sits  sleepily  on  the  river-bank,  half 
embowered  in  shade,  awaiting  the  homage  of  her  subjects,  who  gather  in  on  court- 
days  to  settle  lawsuits  and  talk  of  oxen,  and  who  rejoice  in  a  comfortable  thrcc-storv 
brick  hotel,  with  a  landlord  who  understands  good  living.  IJut  we  must  tarry  no 
longer  in  this  enchanting  Capua,  lest  amid  its  hospitable  seductions  we  may  forget  the 
motives  of  our  journey,  and  disappoint  our  artist,  who  is  an.xious  to  have  a  tilt  with 
his  crayon  against  the  giants  of  the   North   Fork. 

Continuing  our  route  southward  by  a  pleasant,  graded  road,  in  an  hour's  ride  wc 
arrive  at  Baker's,  seven  miles  above  Moorfield.  Just  before  reaching  the  house,  we 
catch  a  -glimpse  of  a  pretty  cove  on  our  left,  overlooked  by  a  secondary  range  of 
rounded  hills  faced  with  some  curious  rock-work.  The  view  is  interrupted  by  trees, 
and  sufficiently  imperfect  to  stimulate  the  imagination.  So  we  open  the  bars,  and,  riding 
across  cultivated  fields  for  half  a  mile,  find  ourselves  in  the  meadow  immediately  oppo- 
site the  objects  of  our  curiosity.  The  closer  and  more  satisfiictory  view  brings  no  dis- 
appointment, but,  on  the  contrary,  increases  our  astonishment.  Here  are  five  conically- 
rounded  hills,  rising  to  a  height  of  several  hundred  feet  above  the  plain,  singularly 
regular  in  shape  and  size,  each  adorned  with  a  half-detached  fagade  of  rock-work  of  the 
most  peculiar  and  fantastic  character.  One  is  at  first  reminded  of  the  Moresque  castles 
and  walled  towns  of  Barbary ;  then  follow  suggestions  of  Oriental  conceits  from  the 
ancient  temples  of  Benares ;  but,  as  we  continue  to  gaze,  these  vague  fancies  fade,  and 
we  become  possessed  with  the  grotesque  and  freakish  originality  of  the  scene,  which 
finds  no  counterpart  in  any  work  of  human  art.  Geologically,  these  rocks  are  of  strati- 
fied sandstone,  upheaved  p;  endicularly ;  cracked,  splintered,  and  abraded,  •  by  the  ele- 
ments ;   their  exposed  edges  wrought  into  the  most  strange  and  startling  shapes — 


"  Like  sonic  Bedlam  st.ituary's  dream, 
The  crazed  creation  of  misKiiided  wliim  "- 


images  which  might  be  worshipped  without  breaking  the  second  commandment.  So  far 
overtopped  by  their  loftier  neighbors,  these  hills  scarcely  suggest  emotions  of  sublimity ; 
yet  they  hold  us  by  the  fascination  of  a  curiosity  not  unmingled  with  awe,  and,  had  we 
but  a  spice  of  Oriental  faith  and  fancy,  we  could  swear  we  had  looked  upon  the  ruins 
of  some  mighty  race  of  genii  who  held  this  land  before  the  flood. 

We  will  now  push  on  toward  Petersburg,  ever  and  anon  casting  a  lingering  look 
l)ehind,  over  the  level  perspective  of  the  beautiful  valley,  and  the  fading  blue  of  its 
northern  boundaries. 

After  a  short  ride  of  two  miles,  we  suddenly  turn  into  the  cool  and  shadowy  gorge 


itately  cattle, 
e  queen  of 
r-bank,  half 
n  on  court- 
thrcc-ston' 
1st  tarry  no 
>•  forpct  the 
a   tilt  with 

ur's   ride  we 
?    house,  we 
y   ransre  of 
-d    by   trees, 
,  and,  ridinjj 
liately  oppo- 
ings  no  dis- 
ve  conicillv- 
1,    singularly 
rark   of  the 
sque   castles 
:s    from   the 
-'s    fade,  and 
scene,  which 
re  of  strati- 
by   the  ele- 
les — 


at.      So  far 

sublimity ; 

nd,  had  we 

;    the   ruins 

rering  look 
blue   of  its 


owy  gorge 


382 


PICTURESQUE   AMERICA. 


V^. 


m 


of  the  Southern  Gate,  through  which  the  river  pours  its  clear-green  waters  into  the  val- 
ley. Crossing  by  an  easy  ford,  we  follow  the  road,  which  barely  finds  room  to  pass 
between  the  stream  and  the  overhanging  cliffs.  Presently  the  gorge  widens,  and  we  call 
a  halt  to  view  that  gigantic  wall  of  naked  rock,  divided  from  the  clouds  by  a  ragged 
fringe  of  evergreens,  doubled  in  height  by  its  mirrored  counterfeit  in  the  placid  river. 
Here  every  thing  is  on  a  sublime  scale ;  yet  the  scene  is  sweet  and  tranquil  as  the  in- 
terior of  a  Christian  temple.  The  neighborhood  wonder  is  found  in  the  likeness  of  a 
red  fox  at  full  speed,  painted  high  on  the  cliff  by  the  hand  of  ages  The  uninitiated 
find  some  difficulty  in  making  it  out ;  but,  once  seen,  the  resemblance  is  strikingly  good, 
tail  and  all.  The  gorge  is  about  a  mile  in  e.Ktent,  affording  grand  and  pleasant  views 
from  many  different  aspects,  but  no  convenient  stand-point  for  the  artist.  From  its 
up])er  end  we  may  see  Petersburg,  about  two  rniles  distant.  Here  our  perplexed  Sal- 
vator  dismounted,  and,  scaling  a  rude  cliff,  nestled  amid  the  gnaried  branches  of  u  dead 
cedar,  hanging  a  hundred  feet  above  the  road.  As  he  showed  no  disposition  to  de- 
scend, and  returned  lU)  answer  to  our  summons,  we  presumed  he  had  attained  the 
object  of  his  search,  and  rode  on  to  Petersburg  alone.  About  nightfall,  our  com- 
panion joined  us  at  the  village-tavern,  elated  with   his  sketch,  which  tells  its  own   story. 

From  Petersburg  to  Seneca — a  distance  of  twenty-two  miles — there  are  two  roads. 
The  turnj)ike,  easily  practicable  for  wheeled  vehicles,  clings  to  the  mountain-sides,  avoids 
the  crossings,  antl  miss<'s  many  of  the  most  interesting  views.  The  river-road,  practicable 
only  for  cavaliers,  is  rugged,  miry,  and  crosses  the  stream  by  frequent  |)lunges,  yet,  to  the 
tourist  looking  for  the  pictures(iue,  is  far  the  most  interesting;  so  we  will  not  hesitati  to 
choose  it.  .^Vbout  four  miles  above  Petersburg,  we  see  the  junction  of  the  North  iiid 
Middle  Forks  of  the  South  firanch.  Near  this  point  we  halt  to  examine  a  singularlv 
perfect  and  beautiful  exhibition  of  arched  strata,  laid  bare  by  the  action  of  the  waters. 
The  arch  is  the  segment  of  a  rircle  several  hunilred  feet  in  diameter,  apparently  as  niju- 
lar  as  if  drawn  by  an  engineer.  The  breakings  of  the  rock  are  as  clean  and  S(|uare  cut  as 
if  they  had  been  wrought  by  a  master-mason,  its  colors  and  sylvan  adornments  rich  enoiii;h 
to  please  the  most  exacting  artist.  The  river  sweejis  its  base  in  a  succession  of  sparkliii),' 
rapids;  and  in  the  middle  of  the  stream,  immediately  opposite  the  centre  of  the  auli, 
lies  a  huge,  black  bowlder,  looking  as  if  especially  introduced  to  complete  the  artiruial 
regularity  of  the  scene.  Ignoring  the  incidental  beauties  of  sparkling  stream  and  grace- 
ful foliage,  we  think  the  subject  would  more  apjiropriately  adorn  a  geological  museum 
than  a  landscape-gallery,  and  its  aspect  in  Nature  excites  no  other  emotion  than  lliat 
of  pleasing  curiosity. 

Within  the  next  mile  or  two,  we  cross  the  fork  again,  and  come  suddenlv  upon  a 
scene  of  quite  another  character.  At  the  butt  of  a  sharp  sjiur  rises  a  towering  archi- 
tectural mass,  which  any  one  familiar  with  the  Old  VV'orld  would  .pronounce  a  well- 
preserved    liudal    ruin,   and    a    |)ur(lv    Amerii.m    imagination    would   conceive   to    be   the 


IN    WEST    VIRGINIA. 


383 


chimneys  of  a  burnt  factory.  As  the  probabilities  of  finding  a  feudal  castle  and  a  mod- 
ern factory  in  this  region  are  about  equal,  we  must  deviate  a  little  from  the  highway  to 
obtain  a  better  view  of  the  startling  object.     Even  upon  a  closer  inspection,  it  is  diffi- 


Chimney    KiKks. 


cull  to  divest  one's  self  of  the  idea  that  luinian  hands  must  have  played  sdmu-  part  in 
the  erection  of  the  .|)ile  before  us.  So  regular  and  square  cut  is  the  masonry,  so  shapely 
the  towers,  so  artistically  true  the  embattled  summits,  the   supporting   buttresses,  the  jut- 


384 


PIC  rURESQ  UE    A  ME  RICA . 


W 


i 


K.in'-'    I'niiKuk-'i. 


tiiijj  turrets,  the  cold,  ;iniy  walls,  (ia|)ple(l  with  liiliciis,  moss,  .mil  weather-stains  all 
comhined  so  artfully  to  miinie  the  "ruined  easlle  of  romance,"  iii.it  ilie  jjarish  lifilil  "'  ' 
summer  moriiinjj  is  scarcely  stroii^j  enough  to  dispel  ihi  illusion.  Vet,  hy  turning  on  'i 
still  stronjrer  li^ht — thai  of  a  materialistic  ajje  and  traditionless  country- our  castle 
dwindles  into  a  jjeolo^ical   vaj^arv,  ami  we  resume  our    journev,  lilleil  with  vajjue  regrets 


IN    WEST    VIRGINIA.  385 

Since  leaving  the  gorge  of  the  Southern  Gate,  we  have  seen  rising  before  us,  like 
a  mass  of  dark,  rolling  thunder-clouds,  the  cliffs  and  pinnacled  spurs  and  grinning  sum- 
mits of  the  great  Alleghany  Ridge.  Between  these  and  a  parallel  mountain  of  gigantic 
hcigiit  and  savage  aspect  Hows  the  North  Fork,  whose  borders  we  are  now  bent  on 
exploring.  Following  the  river-road,  we  pass  by  many  a  wild  and  disrupted  battle- 
field, where  for  unnumbered  ages  the  elements  have  striven  for  mastery — 

"  Crags,  knolls,  and  mounds,  in  ruin  hurled — 
The  fragments  of  an  earlier  world," 

Oil  these  fields  the  geologist  may  find  a  whole  library  of  useful  knowledge  open  for  his 
perusal.  Here,  too,  the  statesman  may  read,  in  the  continual  abrasion  of  lordly  peaks 
ami  elevation  of  humble  valleys,  the  gradual  but  certain  tendency  of  all  created  things 
toward  the  millennium  of  level  equality.  Here,  also,  is  written  stupendous  confirmation 
of  the  simplest  and  grandest  lesson  of  life's  philosophy.  Though  the  inconceivable 
lioucr  of  primeval  earthquakes  has  heaped  up  these  mountain-barriers,  ridge  upon  ridge, 
tluit  lri(.kling  streamlet,  bom  of  a  dew-drop,  has  reft  them  to  their  base.  The  hurricane 
(laps  his  frantic  wing  and  the  thunder  roars  in  vain  against  the  pride  of  those  tower- 
iiiu  cliiTs,  which  the  sneaking,  fairy-fingered  frost  will  one  day  send  crashing  headlong 
down  into  the  abyss  below : 

"  Not  to  the  haughty,  nor  the  strong. 
Do  the  powers  of  earth  belong, 
Hilt  to  the  patient  and  the  meek 
Who  the  paths  of  wisdom  seek." 


The  artist,  whose  gifts  are  spread  over  the  surface  of  life,  dors  not  perplex  himself 
will)  these  things,  but  is  rather  annoyed  with  tiie  superabundanLO  of  pictorial  attractions, 
and  the  dinicnUv  of  selecting.  ICspecially  [tleased  is  he  when  we  chance  upon  a  sui)ject 
Ml  peculiar  and   impressive  in  its  features  that  it  leaves  him  no  discretion.     Such  a  point 

1    find  at    Kan's,  eighteen  miles  above   Petersburg;   and,  as  the  dav    is  usually  far  spent 

n  we  reach  it,  we  will  lie  by  for  the   night  at  the  farm-house.      Old    .\dam    Karr  has 

ye       to   his    rest   some   years   ago,   but   he  has  doubtless  left   behind   some    scion   of  b'ls 

stuuly  race  to   inherit    the   old   homestead,  and  with   it,  we   may  hope,  the   (piaint    humor 

\\m\  genial   hospil.dily  of  its  ancient   pro|iiietoi. 

To  ajjproach  the  Fiimaele';,  about  a  mile  distant  from  the  iioiise,  one  must  ford  the 
IniL  .ind  ride  up  a  narrow  ravine,  densely  wooiled.      lulling  from  the  |()inl   of  the  oppo- 

ilr  hill,  we  see  two  thin  sheets  of  rock,  towering  periKinliciilarlv,  side  bv  side,  far  above 
the  tops  of  the  loltiesi  lorest-tiees,  their  jaggetl  and  grolestpie  outlines  dr;  ah  in  dark 
"ilhoui-ltc  a^ainM  the  clear-blue  sky.  The  edge  pieseiitalioii  exhibits  a  pair  of  monu- 
mtnts,  one  ol   which   bears   a   rude   resemblance   to   the   obelisk   of  Luxor,  the   other  to 


IN    WEST    VIRGINIA. 


387 


a  monumental  spire  of  the  pinnacled  Gothic  style.  Measuring?  them  by  the  Yankee  rule 
of  micss,  I  should  say  they  exceeded  two  hundred  feet  in  height,  with  a  tapering  width 
of  from  ten  to  five  feet.  Here  are  no  suggestions  of  Oriental  fancy  nor  feudal  ro- 
mance, no  graceful  details  nor  bright  surroundings,  to  relieve  the  solemn,  tomb-like 
aspect  of  the  scene.  Staring  like  grim  Cyclopean  skeletons  through  the  lonely  wood, 
they  have  "a  fiendish  look,"  and  we  feel  a  creeping  terror  in  their  presence.  An  imagi- 
iiiitivc  man,  about  twilight,  would  instinctively  avoid  the  spot — never  willingly  visit  it 
alone.  We  were  glad  when  the  sketch  was  finished,  and  wc  were  free  to  return  again 
to  the  friendly  sunshine  and  the  evcry-day  beauties  of  Nature.  Our  picture,  though 
technically  correct,  has  quite  failed  to  catch  the  haunted  aspect  of  the  locality. 

From  Karr's,  an  easy  ride  of  five  miles  brings  us  to  the  mouth  of  the  Seneca,  where 
we  find  a  little  trading  settlement.  But  this  fact  does  not  interest  us  at  present.  On 
reaching  the  open  ground,  all  our  fii.culties  are  at  once  concentrated  on  the  magnificent 
object  just  across  the  river — a  scene  in  which  all  the  elements  of  curiosity,  beauty,  and 
sublimity,  seem  to  have  been  accumulated  and  combined.  Imagine  a  thin,  laminated 
sheet  of  rock,  half  a  mile  long  by  five  hundred  feet  broad,  set  up  on  edge,  the  base 
covered  for  one-third  of  the  height  by  a  forest-grown  talus ,  its  sides  ribbed  with  narrow 
terraces,  moss-carpeted  and  festooned  with  gay,  flowering  shrubs ;  the  bare  surfaces  stained 
uitii  varied  colors,  white,  yellow,  red,  brown,  gray,  and  purple ;  its  u|)])er  edge  riven, 
splintered,  and  carved  with  a  succession  of  grotesque  forms  whicli  the  ju'iicil  alone  can 
describe.  On  the  left  the  cliflF  abuts  against  a  wooded  mountain,  defended,  as  it  were, 
i)v  a  double  line  of  bastioned  and  embattled  walls.  On  the  right  it  terminates  abruptly 
in  a  sharp  precipice.  From  the  opposing  hill  juts  another  towering  pile  of  rock,  wiiich 
forms  the  narrow  gate-way  through  which  appears  a  long  vista  of  woods  and  mountains. 
Now  we  have  the  picture  sketched  in  outline;  but  how  shall  we  describe  the  varied  emo- 
tions excited  by  its  diverse  forms  and  ever-changing  countenance  ?  When  the  sun  gilds 
its  painted  and  festooned  sides,  we  glory  in  its  beauty ;  when  a  passing  cloud  veils  it  in 
shadows,  we  are  awe-struck  by  its  weird  sublimity.  Having  partially  satisfied  our  cmo- 
;iiiii,il  appetites,  we  take  a  recess,  and  ride  up  to  Adamson's  to  dinner.  In  the  after- 
uiKiii  we  return,  and  cross  the  river  on  foot  by  a  fording-place  so  ruggi-d  and  slipjiery 
that  we  cannot  tiust  our  horses  to  carry  us.  Up  the  steep  bank,  and  across  a  shaded  pla- 
tcaii,  we  enter  the  gate-way,  which  is  farther  from  the  river  than  we  anticipated.  Here 
uc  find  the  inevitable  water-power— a  trickling  rill,  whose  current  might  be  stopped  by 
a  thirsty  ox — the  insignificant  author  of  this  tremendous  ruin.  Turning  from  the  horse- 
path, we  clamber  up  the  talus  at  the  base  of  the  right-hand  abutment,  and,  when  out 
(if  breath,  sit  down  to  recover,  and  look  up.  We  are  now  directly  fronting  the  perpen- 
dicular edge  or  gable-end  of  the  great  clitT.  1  he  first  emotion  is  one  of  bewilderment, 
not  unminglfd  with  dread,  at  the  impending  proximity  of  the  awful  pile,  as  if  we  were 
standing    under    the    leaning   tower  of    Gariscnda,   at    Bologna.     As  wc  next    begin   to 


388 


PICTURESQUE    AMERICA. 


Cathedral    Kock. 


note  the  details,  and  coniprehend  the  fyeneral  effect  of  the  mass,  we  are  troul)led  with  a 
strange  sense  of  incredulit}',  a  distrust  of  our  senses,  even  a  certain  flushing  of  resent- 
ment, as  if  some  imposition  were  practised  upon  us.  All  that  we  have  herctofcrc 
%en  and  wondered  at  has  not  quite  prepared  us  to  accept  this  literally.  Can  this  In- 
reality,  or  is  it  only  a  stony  nijjhtmare  superinduced  by  a  surfeit  of  rocks  ?  Yet,  tlu  ic 
it  stands,  in  motionless  and  silent  majesty,  a  vast  minster  of  the  Gothic  ages,  growinj; 
more  and  more   marvellous  as  we   scrutinize   its   carven   details,  and   estimate  its  suhlinic 


IN    WEST    VIRGINIA. 


389 


1-^ 


Cathedral    Rock — Side-view. 


proportions.  There  is  the  grand  portal,  with  its  pointed  arch,  from  whose  shadowy  re- 
cesses we  may  presently  expect  to  hear  the  organ  pealing,  and  tiie  anthem  of  ciianting 
priests.  There  is  the  heaven-piercing  spire,  with  its  pinnacles,  iniials,  turrets,  traceries,  and 
all  the  requisite  architectural  enrichiPents,  from  which  anon  will  ring  out  the  sweet  and 
solemn  chimes,  calling  the  world  to  prayer.  There  too,  sharply  traced  by  sunlight  and 
siiadow,  are  the  Gothic  oriels  and  double-arched  windows,  suggestive  of  stained-glass 
pictures,  only  visible  from  the  interior. 


39° 


PICTURESQUF.    AMERICA. 


nil! 


!;f 


■ 


Below,  the  foundations  are  laid  in  square-cut  blocks,  and  the  sides  ribbed  with  in- 
dining  buttresses,  to  give  assurance  of  eternal  stability;  and,  stranger  than  all,  the  short, 
unfinished  tower  has  not  been  omitted — the  begging  tower,  for  whose  completion  (jucst- 
ing  monks  will    be  collecting  money  for  the  next  thousand  years,  perhaps. 

V>\  this  time  doubts  have  vanished,  for  Salvator  has  exhibited  his  sketch,  and  ] 
have  more  faith  in  a  picture  than  in  my  own  senses.  There  is  no  witness  who  swears 
so  convincingly  as  the  photograph  or  a  sketch  from  Nature.  The  casual  observer  mav 
be  easily  tricked  liy  his  careless  eye  or  exuberant  fancy.  In  the  flow  of  language  there 
is  an  irresistible  tendency  to  exaggeration,  and  to  subordinate  fact  to  phraseology. 

But  the  patient  scrutiny  of  the  pencil-point  rarely  errs,  and  the  true  artistic  instinct 
unconsciously  rejects  the  line  that  is  false  or  out  of  character. 

While  this  view  presents,  in  the  most  satislactory  manner,  the  regular  architectural 
features  of  this  earth-born  cathedral,  we  mav  vary  the  scene  indefinitely  by  changing  ])o- 
sition.  Thus,  from  a  point  a  little  higher  and  more  distant,  the  stupendous  height  of 
the  spire  is  more  manifest,  while  a  movement  to  the  right  develops  a  second  group  of 
pinnacles  behind  the  first,  and  the  change  of  perspective  invests  the  whole  scene  with  a 
wilder  and  more  unearthly  character.  Indeed,  within  the  charmed  range  fresh  surprises 
and  novel  emotions  attend  on  every  step.  I  have  made  three  several  pilgrimages  to 
Seneca,  spending  hours,  and  sometimes  days,  in  the  vicinity  of  the  mighty  shrine,  yet  feel 
that  I  have  but  half  developed  its  fascinations. 

And  now  having  fiiitiifully,  and  wc  hope  satisfactorily,  done  the  valley  of  the  North 
Fork,  we  take  regretful  leave  of  its  wonderful  picture-gallery,  and  follow  our  adventurous 
artist  across  the  bleak  summits  of  the  Alleghany,  through  miles  of  swampy  laurel-brakes 
and  dim  hemlock-forests,  to  his  camp  in  the  mountain-wilds  of  Randolph  County,  where 
the  streams  run  westward. 

To  one  in  the  flesh  the  journey  is  tedious,  tiresome,  full  of  privations  and  dilticul- 
tics ;  but  to  you,  our  friends  of  the  cushioned  chairs  and  worsted  slippers,  the  transit 
shall  be  as  brief  and  easy  as  though  you  sat  upon  that  magic  rug  described  in  tlic 
"Arabian  Nights." 

And  what  can  be  the  attraction  here  in  this  gloomy,  dripping  forest,  where  tiie  liiuh 
sun  can  scarcely  penetrate,  where  the  eye  is  refreshed  by  no  vistas  of  blue  distance,  and 
wiiere  the  artist  hardly  finds  elbow-room  or  light  enough  to  exercise  his  faculty? 

Listen.  We  are  here  upon  the  broad,  wooded  summits  of  the  great  dividing  ridge 
of  Alleghany,  about  three  thousand  feet  above  the  ocean-tides. 

Have  you  observed  all  these  pretty  amber-tinted  brooks  fringed  with  flowering  rho- 
dodendron, meandering  quietly  and  unconsciously  under  the  vaulted  forest?  Just  below  us 
ll(»ws  the  fainous  Blackwatcr  through  an  awful  rift  nearly  two  thousand  feet  in  depth. 
These  younglings  must  join  their  mother  in  the  briefest  space,  and  it  is  glorious  sport 
to   sec   them   do   it.     This   is   the   land   of  water-falls.      That    pretty  knack  we   have   ac- 


ISM' 
mm'' 


sketch,  and  1 
CSS  who  swears 
1  observer  mav 

language  there 
aseology. 

artistic  instinct 


y  of  the  North 

>ur  adventurous 

jy  hiurel-hrakcs 

County,  where 

IS  and  difiicul- 
ers,  the  transit 
:scril)ed    in   the 


flowering  rho- 
Just  below  us 
feet  in  deptli. 
glorious  s|iort 
we   have   ac- 


FALLS    OF     THK     BLACK  WATEB. 


392 


PICTURESQUE    AMERICA. 


quired  of  picturing  the  steady  sitters  of  the  North  Fork  will  avail  us  little  here ;  we 
must  set  our  traps  to  catch  the  sunbeams  as  they  flicker  among  the  slippery  water- 
spirits.  Indeed,  there  is  something  decidedly  stimulating  in  the  change  of  elements.  Lifc 
must  have  both  music  and  motion,  and,  after  a  fortnight  with  those  dusty  roads,  the 
haughty  immobility  of  those  lordly  peaks,  the  death-like  silence  of  those  stony  nionu 
ments,  we  had  begun  to  feel  as  arid  and  passionless  as  if  we  had  been  studying  in  a 
sculpture-gallery  or  promenading  a  cemetery.  Now  it  is  deliciously  refreshing  to  breathe 
this  atmosphere  of  whirling  spray,  to  witness  the  wild  gambols  of  these  frisky  streams, 
to  hear  the  chorus  of  their  thousand  voices,  from  the  tinkling  treble  of  the  tiny 
rill  to  the  thundering  bass  of  the  distant  river,  all  timed  and  tuned  to  the  merry  dan- 
cing of  the  mountain  Undines. 

The  first  leap  made  by  the  Skillet  Fork  is  forty  feet  in  the  clear,  and  thence  with- 
out a  halt  she  goes  plunging  down  a  break-neck  stairway,  with  a  descent  of  some  four 
or  five  hundred  feet  in  half  a  mile's  distance,  where  she  joins  the  main  stream  (>f  Blacic- 
water,  while  in  our  enthusiasm  we  clap  our  hands  and  roar  out,  "  Weel  done,  Cuttv- 
sark!"  This  initial  plunge  is  selected  by  our  artist  as  one  of  the  best-arranged  picluns 
to  be  found  in  the  mountains,  and,  in  rendering  the  subject,  he  has  lost  nothing  of  its 
graceful  forms  and  effectiv  isposition  of  light  and  shadow;  but,  after  all,  the  real  fas- 
cination of  the  natural   piece  is  in  the  exquisite  freshness  and  variety  of  its  tinting. 

The  tender  opal  of  the  narrow  strip  of  sky  ;  the  soft,  bluish-gray  border  of  distant 
forest  appearing  above  the  fall ;  the  sparkling  amber  of  the  water  mingling  and  con- 
trasted with  the  snowy  whiteness  of  the  boiling  spray;  the  dark  plumage  of  the  stately 
hemlock ;  the  glistening  foliage  and  delicate-pink  bloom  of  the  rhododendron ;  the 
gemmy  greenness  of  the  moss-carpeted  rocks  ;  the  luscious  splendor  of  the  pool  at  our 
feet,  like  a  dancing  caldron  of  calfs-foot  jelly  crowned  with  whipped  syllabub — all  com- 
bine to  form  a  natural  picture  before  which  the  most  ambitious  art  may  hang  its  iiead. 
Vet  this  wild  region  is  full  of  such  scenes,  some  of  them  far  surpassing  this  in  gran- 
deur, if  not  in  beauty  of  details. 

And,  in  conclusion,  we  may  pertinently  ask,  Will  not  some  one  of  our  famous  mas- 
ters of  landscape-art  who  have  buried  the  Hudson  and  White  Hills  under  mountains  of 
canvas,  and  venturously  plucked  the  mighty  hearts  out  of  the  distant  Andes  and  Rocky 
Mountains,  condescend  to  accept  this  challenge  from  the  virgin  wilderness  of  Wist 
Virginia? 


:tle  here ;  we 
lij)pery  water- 
Icments.  Life 
sty  roads,  the 

stony  monu 
studying  in  a 
ng  to  breathe 
frisky  streams, 

of    the    tiny 
le   merry  dan- 

[  thence  with- 
of  some  four 
jam  of  Black- 
done,  Cuttv- 
ingcd  pictures 
lothing  of  its 
1,  the  real  fa*-- 
s  tinting, 
der  of  distant 
ling  and  con- 
of  the  stately 
)dendron  ;  the 
;  pool  at  our 
bub — all  com- 
lang  its  head. 
this   in   gran- 

r  famous  mas- 

mountaiiis  of 

es  and  Rocky 

less    of    West 


Ill 

m 


•  TtrmvkraasAJJ  lB7.i]j^D  AppUt(m.&.Go  Ui*. 


,.J2^yr/'       y^u^.t 


in«r  nr  r,angt«86  wantnti^inn 


^'U^?t/' 


(ebthance  to  hahti.'vm  bat) 


Nevrfti;k,  JJ  Ajipleton 


te-: 


41^^ 


m 


I  ^' 


0 


0 


.11 


1.1 


LAKE     SUPERIOR. 


WITH       I  L  I.  U  S  T  R  A  T  I  ()  N  S       H  V       \V  I  1.  I    I  A  M       M  ART. 


(jraiul  I'urial 


'  I  "WO  liinuired  and  thirty-two  years  ajjo,  the  first  whitt;  man  stood  on  thi-  sliorcs  of 
*  Lake  Su|)<'rior.  tk-fore  liini  was  asst'ml)lcd  a  crowd  of  Indians  two  thousand 
(•jihuMs  and  otht-r  Alj^^onquins  —  listeninij,  with  curiosity,  to  tiic  strange  tidings  he 
lirouifhl,  and,  in  some  instances,  allowing  the  mystic  drops  to  l)c  pourtd  upon  their 
fnn Iliads;  for,  litce  all  the  first  explorers  of  the  lake-country,  this  man  was  a  niissionarv. 
Oniv  religious  zeal  could  brave  the  wilderness  and  its  savages,  cold  and  hunger,  torture 
and  death,  for  no  hope  of  earthly  reward,  for  no  gold-mines,  for  no  fountain  of  youth, 
Itiit  simply  for  the  salvation  of  souls.  And,  whatever  posterity  mav  think  of  the  utility 
|>I  ilieir  v.'ork,  it  must  at  least  admire  the  courage  and  devotion  of  these  fathers,  who, 
ilmiist  without  exception,  laid  down  their  lives  for  the  cause.  What  can  a  man  do 
mkpiv  ?  I-'ive  years  later  came  the  turn  of  this  first  wiiite  man  ol  Lake  Superior,  mur- 
licrcd  by  the  Indians  in  the  forests  near  the  Mohawk   '<iver. 


394 


PICTURESQUE    AMERICA. 


I 


Since  that  first  visit,  more  than  two  centuries  ago — a  long  time  for  fast-moving 
American  history — the  great  lake  has  remained  almost  unknown  to  the  world  of  b(,oks. 
Even  now,  while  the  far  Pacific  coast  is  pictured  and  described  in  all  the  magaziius 
and  newspapers  of  the  day,  portions  of  Lake  Superior  remain  terra  incognita ;  and, 
with  the  exception  of  dry  surveys  and  geological  reports,  the  libraries  are  barren  of  its 
very  name.  And  yet  the  scenery  is  grand  beyond  the  power  of  verbal  description. 
Stored  awav  in  its  bays  are  groups  of  islet;,  as  fair  as  any  in  southern  seas.  All  aloni; 
the  shore  are  water-falls,  some  silvery,  some  claret-colored,  some  falling  two  hundred  feet 
over  a  sheer  precipice,  and  others  leaping  down  the  cliffs  in  a  long  series  of  cascades. 
In  parts  of  the  coast,  the  sandstone  rocks  are  worn  and  fretted  ir.to  strange  shapes  of 
castles,  faces,  and  figures,  which  stand  out  like  sculpture;  in  others,  the  granite  rocks 
rise  like  palisades,  in  fluted  columns  of  red  and  silver ;  and,  farther  to  the  north,  porpln  ry 
cliffs  tower  above  the  water — a  peq)endicular  wall,  thirteen  hundre<l  and  fift  leet  hiijli— 
sterii  guardians  of  the  silver  at  their  base.  Miray-  of  wonderful  beauty  is  seen  on  the 
li'ke ;  and  the  Indians  had  many  a  tiiie  of  lost  islands  floating  in  charge  of  a  manitou, 
veiled  at  his  will  in  silver  fog.  Persons  crossing  from  point  to  point  in  their  bark  canoes 
would  !)ring  strange  tales  of  these  islets;  but,  though  they  searched  a  lifetime  throiigli, 
they  could  never  find  them  again. 

Superior  is  four  hundred  and  -'  fy  miles  long,  one  hundred  and  seventy  broad, 
and  eight  hundred  feet  deep.  Its  general  shape  was  best  described  by  the  French 
fathers,  more  than  two  hun>lied  years  ago,  as  "a  bended  bow,  the  nortiiern  shore  bcinj; 
the  arc.  the  southern  shore  he  cord,  and  the  long  point  the  arrow."  This  long  point  is 
Keweenaw,  a  copper  arm  ilirust  out  seventy  miles  into  the  lake  from  the  south  shore. 
Passing  the  Sault  ;'  inte-Marie — called  "Soo"  in  Western  phraseology— Point  Inxpiois  is 
seen  on  the  west,  and  opposite  the  (iros  Cap  of  Canada,  i.\  hundred  feet  high.  Tlierc 
is  a  story  connected  wiih  these  points;  and  as,  for  once,  the  all-con<|uering  Iroquois  were 
comiui'red,  it  is  wortli  relating,  since  the  continuous  vi;tories  of  this  fierce  confederacy 
become  at  last  wearison  e  to  tiiC  student  of  lake-C(»untry  history,  and  he  feels  inclined  to 
take  part  with  the  poor,  exterminated  K'ie ,  and  Ilurons,  who  have  left  only  their  names 
on  tli<'  lakt••^  where  they  once  lived.  I'p  the  western  shore  once  came  the  Iroquois,  and 
upon  this  point  they  fought  u  great  battle,  of  two  days,  wilii  the  Chippewas  of  Superior, 
defeating  them  with  heavy  loss.  The  remnant  paddled  across  to  (Jros  Cap  in  liuii 
canoes,  and  there,  on  the  shore,  they  watched  the  fires  of  their  enemies,  who,  flu'^iuii 
with  triumph,  danced  and  sang  thiough  most  of  the  night,  and  at  last,  toward  dawn,  fd! 
heavily  asleep.  Then  swiftly  paddled  the  Chippewas  back  again,  and  slew  them,  one  md 
all,  while  they  slept.  As  the  story  says,  "not  an  Irocpiois  looked  out  upon  the  lake 
ever  again."  The  Chippewas  left  the  bones  of  tluir  enemies  bleaching  on  the  shore.  ,iiui 
for  years  they  whitened  the  point,  plainly  visible  for  miles,  the  glory  of  all  the  l.d<f 
Indians. 


LAKE    SUPERIOR. 


395 


B  c  yo  n  (1     Iroquois 
stretclics    loii<>:    Wliite-Fish 
Point,  and,  tliis  turned,  tiie 
Sables    come    into    view— 
sanil-dunes  iiundreds  of  feet 
hijrh,  oolden    by  day,  crim- 
son   at    sunset,    and    silver 
bv  ni,L;lit ;   beautiful   to   the 
eyes  of  the  artist,  but  des- 
olate to  the  sailor,  who,  in 
all    tliis   stretch    of    eighty 
miles,  cm  tind  no  safe  har- 
bm   in   a  storm.      Back   of 
the    Sables    lies    a    wilder- 
nc'.^      part    of    the    penin- 
sula   ivliich    belongs    to    a 
Slate   whose    boundary-line 
it    nowhere     touches,     anil 
wliich  was  thrown  in    as   a 
inaUe-wcigbt    to    keep    tin 
])eace  with  Ohio.     In   1835, 
tiic     State     of      Michigan 
w.iiilril    a     strip     of     land, 
eight  miles  wide,  upon   her 
southern    border,   to    which 
Ohio   also   laid    claim,   and 
the  '[uaiifl  waxed  so  tierce 
that   both  sides,  under  their 
n-pcciive  governors,  raised 
IM"  [IS,    and     marched     out 
III   llu-   (lis|)utcd    boundary. 
Ilnv    the    Ohio    governor, 
si  long  in  tactics,  began    to 
build      a      military      camp, 
wbili'    his    antagonist,    ap- 
pireiitly    nf    ,1     licrcer    dis- 
piisilion,   rodi'    bolillv    into 
jojedo,  laid  wasJt,'   the  wa- 
tt 1     melon      fiatche*^     a  n  d 


396 


PICTURESQUE   AMERICA. 


chicken-coops,  attacked  and  demolished  an  ice-iiousc,  and,  l)urstinji[  in  the  front-door  of 
the  one  officer  residinp^  in  the  town,  carried  iiim  back  into  Michigan  in  triumph,  a  veri- 
table prisoner  of  war.  The  dispute  was  afterward  settled  in  Congress,  and  Miciiigan 
unwillingly  gave  uj)  the  eight  miles  in  exchange  for  this  upper  peninsula,  which  has 
since  proved  a  vast  mineral  storehouse,  whose  treasures,  altho'igh  not  yet  half  devel- 
oped, supply  the  wlu)le  nation,  and  are  crossing  the  ocean  to  the  Old  World. 

Beyond  the  Sables  lie  the  Pictured  Rocks.  Leaving  the  steamer  at  Munesing,  and 
taking  a  Mackinac  boat  or  an  Indian  canoe,  in  order  to  explore  this  wild  region,  and 
seek,  in  their  fastnesses,  the  wonders  which  will  not  reveal  themselves  to  the  mere 
passer-by,  one  is  at  the  .^tart  filled  with  admiration  for  Munesing  Harbor.  It  is  land- 
locked, the  high  hills  rising  all  around,  and  oil  its  mouth  lies  Grand  Island,  in  itself 
romantically  beautiful,  although  almost  unnoticed  on  this  coast  of  marvels.  Munesinp; 
was  to  have  been  a  great  city ;  so  said  Philadelphia.  Hut  the  Iron  Mountain,  farther 
westward,  c.irricd  the  day,  and  built  up  the  city  on  its  own  shore,  naming  it  after  the 
greatest  of  the  Fiench  missionaries,  leather  Manpiette. 

The  Pictured  Rocks  stretch  from  Munesing  Harbor  castwaid  along  the  coast,  rising, 
in  some  places,  to  the  height  of  two  hundred  feet  from  the  water,  in  sheer  precipices, 
without  beach  at  their  bases.  They  show  a  countless  succession  of  rock-sculptures,  and 
the  eifect  is  heightened  by  the  brilliancy  of  the  coloring — yellow,  blue,  green,  and  gray, 
in  all  shades  of  dark  and  light,  alternating  with  each  other  in  a  manner  which  charms 
the  traveller,  and  so  astonishes  the  sober  geologist  that  his  dull  pages  blossom  as  the 
rose.  It  is  impossible  to  enumerate  all  the  rock-pictures,  for  they  succeed  each  other  in 
a  bewildering  series,  varying  from  dilTerent  points  of  view,  and  sweeping,  like  a  panorama, 
from  curve  to  curve,  mile  after  mile.  They  vary,  also,  to  various  eyes — one  person  seeinj; 
a  castle,  with  towers,  where  another  sees  a  caravan  of  the  desert ;  the  near-sighted  follow- 
ing the  trac'-ry  of  tropical  foliage — the  far-sighted  pointing  out  a  storied  fortificatitJii,  with 
a  banner  flying  from  its  summit.  There  are,  however,  a  number  of  the  pictures  so  I  oldly 
drawn  that  all  can  see  iheni  near  or  far,  even  the  most  deadly-practical  minds  beinj; 
forred  to  admit  their  reality.  Passing  the  Chimneys  anti  the  Miner's  Castle,  a  del  iclinl 
mass,  ealii'd  (he  Sail  Rock,  comes  into  view;  and,  so  striking  is  its  resemblance  to  a 
sloop,  with  the  jib  and  mainsail  spread,  that,  at  a  short  distance  out  at  sea,  any  mic 
would  suppose  it  a  real  boat  at  anchor  near  (lie  beach.  Two  headlands  be).^nd  this  is 
Le  Grand  Portail,  so  named  by  the  voyagfurs  -\  race  now  gone,  whose  unwritten  iiis- 
toiy,  hatiging  in  fragments  or.  the  pomts  of  Lake  Superior,  and  fast  fading  away,  belonjis 
to  what  will  soon  be  the  mythic  days  of  the  fur-trade.  The  (irand  Portal  is  one  hun- 
divd  feet  high  by  one  hundred  and  si.xty-cight  fct  broad  at  the  water-level;  and  the 
clifl"  in  which  it  is  cut  rises  above  the  arch,  making  the  whole  height  one  hundred  and 
eighty-five  feet.  The  great  *;ave,  whose  door  is  the  l-'omi  .i< ;  hes  hack  in  the  shape 
of  a  vaulted  room,  the  arches  til  tlie  roof  built  of  ;c! 'U.   sar.df/u:;.     uid  the  sidvs  frettsd 


m 


front-door  of 
•iumph,  a  vcri. 
and  Michigan 
ula,  which  has 
et  half  devel. 
rid. 

Ml. lies! lis:,  and 
Id  region,  and 
to  the  mere 
■•  It  is  land- 
land,  in  itself 
Is.  Munesing 
untain,  farther 
H   it    after  the 

I  coast,  rising, 
-'cr  precipices, 
culptures,  and 

en,  and  gray, 
which  charms 
ossom  as  the 
each  other  in 
i  a  panorama, 
person  seeinp 
iglitcd  foijow- 
ification,  with 
ires  so  I'oltlly 

minds  l)eiiin; 
e,  a  dil ached 
nhlanee  to  a 
sea,  any  one 
c>ond  this  is 
nwritten  hiv- 
.way,  belongs 

is  one  hun- 
vel;  and  I  he 
hundred  ami 
in   the  shape 

sides  frettvil 


CHAHbL     UtAt.  I^i. 


i 


■ 


398 


PICTURESQUE    AMERICA. 


into  fontastic  shapes  by  the  waves  drivin<^  in  irinp  storms,  and  dashing  up  a  hundred 
feet  toward  the  reverberating  roof  with  a  holh  om.     PMoating  under  the  Portal,  un  a 

summer  daVi  voices  echo  l)ack  and  forth,  a  single  word  is  repeated,  and  naturall)  the 
mind  reverts  to  the  Indian  belief  in  grotesque  imps  who  haunted  the  cavern,  and  played 
their  pranks  upon  rash  intruders — pranks  they  still  play,  and  dangerous  ones,  too,  for  the 
whole  coast  of  pictures  is  dreaded  by  the  lake-ca])tains,  and  not  a  few  craft  have  gone 
down  close  to  the  shore,  lost  in  treacherous  ft>gs. 

Farther  toward  the  east  is  La  Chapelle  of  the  voyagemrz.  This  nick-chapel  is  iorty 
feet  above  the  lake — a  tcm])le,  with  an  arched  roof  of  sanirttHBe,  resting  partly  on  the 
cliff  behind,  and  partly  on  massive  columns,  as  perfect  as  th*  unlumned  ruins  of  EjL'\'pt 
Within,  the  rocks  form  an  altar  and  a  pulpit  ;  and  the  <  T  1  ont  is  wom  into  rough 
steps  upward  from  the  water,  so  that  all  stands  ready  iur  tlu  i  ler  and  his  conjirtga- 
tion.  The  colors  of  the  rock  are  the  fresco;  mosses  and  liclscn-  are  the  stained  jiiass; 
and,  from  below,  the  continuous  wash  of  tin*-  water  in  and  out  through  holes  in  the  -ides 
is  like  the  low,  opening  swell  of  an  organ  voluntary.  A  mnanitou  oaBwelt  in  this  chaptl— 
not  a  mischievous  imp,  lik*-  the  sprites  ^  the  Portal,  l)ut  a  gram  god  of  the  storm, 
who,  with  his  fellow-god  on  Thunder  Cape,  of  the  north  shore,  co«ununded  the  winds 
and  waves  of  the  whole  lake,  iif^n  the  Sault  to  Fond-du-Lac.  On  the  chapel-beacii  the 
Indians  performed  their  rites  i>;  appear  him ;  and  here,  at.  a  later  day,  the  merry  voya- 
s^eitrs  initiated  the  tyros  of  the  Pxr-trade  into  the  mysteries  of  their  craft,  by  ])lunuini: 
them  into  the  water-fall  that  dariKS  over  the  rocks  near  by — a  northern  crossing-the-line. 

The  Silver  Cascade  falls  frori  an  overhanging  clilf  one  hundred  and  seventv-livi 
feet,  into  the  lake  below.  Th<^  fall  of  Niagara  is  one  hundred  and  sixty-five  feer,  ten 
feet  less  than  the  Silver,  which,  however,  is  but  a  ribbon  m  breadth,  compared  to  the 
"  Thunder  of  Waters."  The  Silver  is  a  beautiful  fall,  and  the  largest  among  the  Pict- 
ures ;  but  the  whole  coast  of  Superior  is  spangled  with  the  sprav  of  innumerable  cas- 
cades and  rapids,  as  all  the  little  rivers,  instead  of  running  through  the  gorges  and  ra- 
vines of  the  lower-lake  country,  spring  boldly  over  the  cliffs  without  waiting  to  make  a 
bed  for  themselves.      Undine  would  have  loved  their  wild,  sparkling  waters. 

The  coast  of  Pictures  is  not  yet  half  explored,  nor  its  ioeauties  half  discovered;  ilitv 
vary  in  the  light  and  in  tin-  shade;  thev  show  one  outline  in  the  sunshine  and  aiiollier 
in  the  moonlight;  battlements  and  arche«i,  foliage  and  vines,  cities  with  their  spires  .md 
towers,  processions  of  animals,  and  even  tl**^  great  sea-serpent  himself,  whf),  at  last,  al- 
though still  invisible  in  his  own  person,  has  given  us  a  kind  of  rock-photograpii  of  ills 
mysterious  self  In  one  place,  there  stands  a  majestic  profile  looking  toward  the  nnith 
— a  woman's  face,  the  P'mpress  i/f  the  Lake,  It  is  the  pleasure  of  her  roval  liighmss  to 
visit  the  rock  only  by  night,  a  Diana  of  the  New  World.  In  the  daytiine,  search  is 
vain,  she  will  not  reveal  herself;  but,  wlicn  the  low-down  moon  shines  across  the  w.itn. 
behold,  sh«-  appears!      She  looks  fo  the  north,  not  sadly,  not   sternly,  like   the  Old   Man 


5  up  a  hundred 
the  Portal,  on  a 
id  natural!)  the 
/ern,  and  played 
nes,  too,  for  the 
craft  have  jrone 

k-chapel  is  ujrty 
g  partly  on  the 
ruins  of  Eg)'pL 
ivom  into  rough 
id  his  congrt'ga- 
»e  stained  <»lass; 
oles  in  the  -ides 
in  this  chapel— 
)d  1)1  the  storm, 
anded  the  winds 
ehapel-beacli  the 
the  merry  cvyw- 
alt,  by  plunjjini; 
crossinq-tlu'-iini'. 
and  sevent\-lp' 
(Cty-fivc  fci-  leu 
compared  in  the 
imong  the  i'ict- 
innumeralile  cas- 
i'  K'^rpcs  and  ra- 
litiiiR  to  make  a 
ers. 

discovcn  (I  ;  lliev 
line  ami  aiimlit'i 
their  sjiires  .uid 
who,  at  ia-l,  al- 
lotojj^rapii  ill  hi". 
oward  the  north 
royal  Iiiiihni 
aytimi',  schk 
across  the  w.vo  i. 
tc  the  Old  Man 


SILVER    CASCADE. 


400 


PICTURESQUE   AMERICA. 


of  the  White  Mountains,  but  benign  of  aspect,  and  so  beautiful  in  her  rounded,  woinanlv 
curves,  that  the  late  watcher  on  the  beach  falls  into  the  dream  of  Endymion  ;  but,  when 
he  wakes  in  the  gray  dawn,  he  finds  her  gone,  and  only  a  shapeless  rock  glistens  in  the 
rays  of  the  rising  sun. 

Leaving   the    Pictures,  and   going  westward  past   the   Temples  of   Au-Traiii   and  the 
Laughing-Fish  Point,  Martiuette  comes  into  view,  a  picturesque  harbor,  with  a  iiitic  rock 


I^mpress  of  the   Lake. 


islet,  the  outlet  for  the  Iron  Mountain  King  iiack  twelve  miles  in  the  interior,  a  ridge 
of  ore  eight  hundred  feet  high,  which  sends  its  thousands  of  tons  year  after  year  diiwii 
to  the  iron-mills  of  Cleveland,  Pittsburg,  and  Cincinnati,  and  •-carcely  misses  them  fmni 
its  massive  side;.  A  fleet  of  hundreds  of  vessels  i)elongs  to  this  iron-bound  coast;  tluir 
sails  whiten  the  lakes  from  the  opening  of  navigation  lo  its  close;  thev  are  the  first  lo 
start  when,  in  the  early  spring,  word  comes  that  the  ice  is  moving,  and  the  last  to  lea'c 
when,  in  the  late   fall,  word    comes   that   the   ice  is  making.      Perilous  voyag("s  are  theirs, 


LAKE    SUPERIOR. 


401 


Train  and  the 
h  a  little  rock 


terior,  a  ri(ij;c 
tcr  year  down 
:es  them  from 
d  coast  ;  tin  ir 
c  tlic  (irst  to 
last  to  l(M'c 
res  arc  theirs, 


in  the  midst  of  grinding  ice ;  and  sometimes  they  are  caught  in  the  fierce  storms  of  Su- 
perior, going  down  with  all  on  board  off  the  harborlcss  coast  of  the  Pictured  Rocks  or 
the  Sables. 

The  iron  shoulders  passed,  next  comes  the  copper  arm  of  Keweenaw,  the  arrow  in 
the   bow;    the  name  signifies  a  portage;   and    the    Indians,  by  crossing  the  base  of  the 


(Ire.it    I'alisadc. 

pciiiit  through  Portage  [,ake  and  its  streams,  saved  the  long  ninety  miles  around  it. 
This  copper  arm  has  its  history.  Centuries  ago  its  hills  were  mined,  and  the  first  white 
explorers  found  the  ancient  works  and  tools,  and  wondered  over  them  ;  when  they  were 
tirni  of  wondering,  they  ascribed  them  to  the  extinct  Mound-Huilders,  whoever  they 
were,  a   most   convenient    race,  who   come   in   for  all  the  riddles  of  the  Western  country, 


402 


PICTURESQUE    AMERICA. 


I  % 


and  never  rise  from  their  graves  to  say  us  No.  The  Chippcwas  of  Superior  were  full 
of  superstitious  fear  regarding  Keweenaw  I'oint ;  they  believed  that  a  demon  resided 
there,  and  dared  not  visit  his  domain  to  proeure  copper,  without  first  propitiatinj,'  him 
with  rites  and  gifts ;  then,  trembling  and  in  silence,  they  lighted  fires  around  sonic  ex- 
posed  mass  of  the  metal,  and,  when  it  was  softened,  they  hastily  cut  off  a  small  (|uan- 
tity,  and  tied  to  their  canoes  without  looking  back.  So  strong  was  their  dread  that,  for 
many  years,  the  explorers  were  unable  to  obtain  from  them  any  information  about  the 
Point,  neither  would  they  act  as  guides,  although  tempting  bribes  were  offered.  Then 
came  (he  geologists,  unwilling  to  believe  that  native  copper  existed  in  such  a  locality, 
but  forced  to  concede  the  fact  when  solid  masses  of  five  hundred  tons  confronted  them. 
Gradually  they  found  that  this  long  point  held  the  greatest  copper-mines  of  the  world, 
those  of  the  Ural  Mountains,  in  Russia,  sinking  into  insignificance  in  comparison  with 
them;  and,  upon  this  discovery,  speculation  started  up,  and  fortunes  were  made  and  lost 
in  the  Eastern  cities  in  copper-stock  by  men  who  barely  knew  where  Keweenaw  was,  as 
they  tossed  it  like  a  football  from  one  to  another,  and  jabljcred  off  its  Indian  name 
with  easy  fluency.  Throughout  this  excitement,  and  after  it  died  away,  however,  the 
Point  kept  steadily  producing  its  copper  from  the  hills  and  along-shore,  until  now  not 
only  does  it  supply  the  whole  country,  but  is  even  crossing  the  ocean  to  aid  the  Old 
W^orld.  On  Keweenaw  are  several  lakes,  among  them  the  lovely  Lac-la-L5elle  of  the 
voyagcurs :  the  north  shore  of  the  Point  is  bold  with  beautiful  rock-harbors,  and  Ite- 
yond  Ontonagon,  the  western  end  of  the  copper -region,  rise  the  Porcupine  Mountains. 
At  Montreal  River  Michigan  ends,  and  Wisconsin  pushes  forward  to  share  a  part  of  the 
rich  coast. 

Farther  to  the  west  is  the  beautiful  group  of  the  Apostles;  this  name  briniis  up 
again  tlie  memory  of  the  early  missionaries,  who  came  to  these  islands  as  flir  back  as 
1669,  Father  Marcjuette  himself,  the  central  figure  of  the  Inkc-country  history,  having 
spent  some  time  here  at  La  Pointe,  on  Madeline  Island.  It  was  while  attending;  to 
this  mission  that  he  first  heard  of  the  Mississippi,  or  Great  Water,  from  the  Illinois 
tribes,  who  were  attracted  to  La  Pointe  by  the  trinkets  distributed  by  the  Ficnch. 
The  idea  of  seeking  out  this  WQnderful  river  dwelt  in  his  mind  from  that  time,  but  he 
was  not  permitted  to  go  until  several  years  later,  entering  its  waters  at  last  in  June, 
1673,  with,  as  he  writes  in  his  journal,  "a  joy  I  am  not  able  to  express."  An  anticiuated 
Roman  Catholic  chapel  still  stands  at  La  Pointe,  where  the  Indians  and  half-brcnls  as- 
semble to  receive  instruction  from  an  old  French  priest. 

The  islands,  of  which,  by-the-way,  each  apostle  might  take  two,  are  all  beautiful,  a 
lovely  archipelago,  contrasting  with  the  sterner  coast  to  the  north  and  cast.  A;  Hay- 
field,  on  the  main-land  opposite,  is  the  United  States  agency  for  the  Chippewa  Iiuliins, 
and  here  they  receive  their  annual  payment,  coming  in  from  all  quarters  in  their  canoes, 
and   showing   not    a    few    noble   outlines   among   the   young   men,   and    not   a    few  faces 


li  it 


LAKE    SUPERIOR. 


4^3 


)crior  were  fuH 
dciiioii    resided 
ropitiatinj,r  i,j,„ 
mnd   some  c.\. 
a  small  (|iian. 
dread  tluit,  for 
tion    ahoiit  the 
offered.     Tlu-n 
such  a  locality, 
>iitrontcd  them, 
i  of   the  world, 
omparison  with 
made  and  lost 
weenaw  was,  as 
s    Indian   name 
\',   however,  the 
until  now  not 
:o  aid  the  Old 
la-Belle   of  the 
arbors,  and  lie- 
ine   Mountains, 
e  a  part  of  the 

ame  brinixs  up 
as  far  back  as 
history,  liavinj; 
e  attend! I lo-  to 
)m  the  Illinois 
l)y  the  Frencii. 
It  time,  but  he 
last  in  June, 
An  antiquated 
half-breeds  as- 
all  beautiful,  a 
ast.  A;  !?ay- 
ipewa  Indians, 
\  their  canoes, 
t   a   few  faces 


tt'diilu  "f  admiration  among  the  younger  maidens.  There  is  yet  some  romance  left 
on  Lake  Superior,  in  spite  of  the  jirosaic  influence  of  the  Cornish  miners  and  \'ankee 
capitalists.  It  is  I  it  a  few  years  since  a  young  man  of  education  and  refinement,  while 
paddling  a  canoe  along-shore,  came  suddenly  upon  an  Indian  girl  standing  on  the  beach. 
She  was  so  beautiful   that  he  could   not   forget  her,  and,  after  some  days,  he  sought   the 


CIill'  near    Bcavci    Hay. 

place  again,  and  found  her  with  her  parents  in  their  wigwam.  In  spite  of  himself,  and 
with  all  the  world  and  its  inllucnce  against  it,  his  fancy  grew  into  love.  The  father 
heard  of  the  infatuation,  and  in  haste  sent  his  son  eastward  for  a  year's  visit  among  the 
Atlantic  cities,  hoping  that  the  change  and  an  insight  into  fashionable  lite  would  wean 
him   from   his  dark-skinned   love       But   no;   for  a  time  after  his  return  he  did  not  speak 


m 


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Photographiic 

Sciences 
Corpordtion 


33  WEST  MAIN  STRAIT 
WfBSTIR.NY    I4SI0 

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11 


404 


PICTURESQUE  AMERICA. 


of  her,  neither  did  he  seek  the  wigwam.  But  suddenly  it  all  came  back  in  an  Iiour, 
and  one  morning  he  was  missing,  nor  could  any  trace  be  found  until  an  old  fisherman 
brought  word  that  he  had  seen  the  youth  paddling  toward  the  west  in  a  canoe,  with  the 
Indian  girl  in  the  stern,  decked  in  all  her  finery  of  feather-work  and  beads.  The  bride 
was  a  Roman  Catholic,  like  most  of  the  Chippewas,  and  the  two  were  married  by  a 
mission-priest.     The  father  pursued,  but  it  was  too  late. 

At  the  head  of  Lake  Superior  is  the  St.  Louis  River;  here  Wisconsin  ends  and 
Minnesota  begins.  The  town  of  Duluth,  named  after  a  I^Vench  explorer  who  visited  its 
site  in   1680,  is  but  three  years  old,  and  yet  is  called  the  Chicago  of   Lake    Superior;  it 


has  four  thousand  inhabitants,  and  stands  at  the  extreme  western  end  of  the  (ircat 
Chain.  Quebec  stands  at  the  eastern  end,  for  tbe  St.  Lawrence  beyond  is  but  an  arm 
of  the  sea;  and  seventeen  hundred  and  fifty  miles  lie  between.  lieyond  Duluth  b(t;M^ 
the  North  Shote;  and  these  words  call  up  visions  of  grandeur,  of  gold  and  silver,  of 
adventure  aiid  danger,  not  unlike  the  dnams  of  the  first  white  men  on  the  shores  nt 
Mexico.  The  long  coast,  the  are  of  ihi'  i>ow,  is  even  now  but  vaguely  known.  In, 
although  a  few  settlements  have  been  made  where  silver  exists,  they  are  but  dots  "ii 
the  line,  and  the  map-makers  are  obliged  either  to  leave  their  paper  blank,  or  fill  it  up 
from  imagination    and   the  vague  stories  of   the    hunter..      Tiie  veil   of   mvstery  adds,  no 


LAKE   SUPERIOR. 


405 


doulil,  a  charm ;  but,  nevertheless,  the  surveys,  as  far  as  they  have  gone,  verify  the 
visions,  and  the  silver  sent  down  to  the  lower-lake  towns  fairly  exceeds  the  descriptions 
of  the  discoverers. 

Until  within  a  few  years  the  north  shore  has  been  traversed  only  by  the  hunters, 
trappers,  and  voyage nrs  of  the  Hudson's  Bay  Company  ;  more  than  half  of  its  length  is 
their  rightful  territory,  and  scattered  along  its  line  are  several  of  their  forts,  with  their 
niotkv  inhabitants.      This  company  was  formed  in  London  in   1669,  under  the  leadership 


Tcinpcruio: '    lliulior. 


(.1  Prince  Rupert,  and  afterward  obtained  a  charter  from  Charles  II.,  granting  "the  sole 
li^hl  of  trading  in  all  the  country  watered  by  rivers  liowing  into  Hudson's  Bay,"  this 
\\m\\\  was  sortn  stretched  until  it  included  the  whole  of  British  America,  and  as  much 
of  the  Tnitcd  States  as  the  hunters  found  convenient.  There  were  lour  departments: 
til.  Northern,. which  embracetl  the  icy  region  near  the  arctic  circle;  the  luistern,  along 
the  St.  Lawrence  and  its  tributaries;:  the  Southern,  lyitig  t)n  the  shore  of  Lake  Superior; 
.mil  the  Western,  which  took  in  the  immense  countrv  west  of  the  Saskatchewan,  as  far 
a.i  the  Pacific  Ocean  and  the  Columbia  River,  where  John  Jacob  .\stor  made   his    brave 


4o6 


PICTURESQUE    AMERICA. 


til 


\ 


fight,  single-handed,  with  the  vast  corporation,  and  failed,  solely  on  account   of  the   inca- 
pacity or  infidelity  of  his  agents. 

All  through  the  north  coasts  of  Superior  roamed  the  company  hunters ;  along  the 
hundreds  of  little  lakes  and  streams  the  voyagciirs  paddled  their  canoes,  trading  with 
the  Indians  and  gathering  together  the  furs,  which,  packed  in  bales,  were  sent  eastward 
from  post  to  post,  until  they  reached  the  ocean,  where  the  company  vessels  carried  them 
to  England.  1  he  head  men  were  generally  English  or  Scotch,  but  the  voyagcurs  were 
French  and  French  half-breeds;  and  it  is  noteworthy  that  the  quick  imaginations  of  the 
latter  class  have  given  the  nam.es  to  most  of  the  points,  bays,  and  cliffs  of  the  lake, 
while  the  more  stately  English  titles  are  entirely  forgotten,  save  in  the  old  journals  of 
some  chief  factor,  where  they  languish  unnoticed  by  |)ostcrity,  which  goes  on  talking  of 
"Bete  Grise,"  "Grand  Marais,"  "  Presqu'isle,"  "  Bois  Brule,"  and  "  L'Anse  A  la  Bouteille," 
as  though  it  preferred  them  to  the  names  of  English  royalty  and  nobility. 

A  merry  race  were  the  voyageurs,  and  the  memory  of  their  songs  still  lingers  in 
the  ears  of  old  lake-captains  and  sailors  of  the  generation  almost  passed  away  ;  and  yet 
it  is  impossible  now  to  get  either  words  or  tunes — a  few  of  the  titles  only  remain. 

"Tney  always  sung,  and  kept  time  with  their  paddles,"  said  an  old  sailor  reeently. 
"  The  tunes  were  wikl-likc,  but  mighty  sweet,  and  the  words  were  French.  The  steers- 
man would  begin,  and  then  all  would  join  in  at  the  last  two  lines  and  chorus.  Thev 
never  could  do  any  thing  without  singing." 

"  But  can  you  not  recall  even  one  of  the  airs  ? " 

"  No,  no ;  I've  forgot  them  all.  But  they  were  sweeter  than  the  tunes  are  now- 
adays." 

The  shore  of  Superior,  north  of  Duluth,  rises  into  grand  cliffs  of  greenstone  ami 
porphyry,  eight  hundred  to  one  thousand  feet  high.  The  Great  Palisade,  a  remarkalilc 
rock-formation,  is  moulded  in  columns  up  and  down,  more  regular  than  the  Palisades  of 
the  Hudson.  The  rock  is  of  a  red  color,  and  the  minute  (|uartz-crystals  scattered  over 
its  face  cause  it  to  gleam  in  the  sunshine  like  a  wall  of  diamonds.  It  stands  almost 
entirely  detached  from  the  main-land,  and,  at  a  short  distance  out  at  sea,  might  be  said 
to  resen.itle  a  row  of  plants  growing  upward,  side  by  side,  from  the  water,  like  giani 
lily-stalks. 

The  cliffs  of  Beaver  Bay  arc  wild  and  rugged ;  and  yet,  dangerous  as  they  appear, 
here  is  one  of  the  good  harbors  of  the  north  shore. 

Baptism,  or  Baptiinc,  River,  beyond  the  Great  Palisade,  comes  dashing  down  to  ilie 
lake  in  a  series  of  wild  water-falls,  with  a  wall  of  rocks  on  one  side,  through  which  it 
has  cut  a  gate-way  for  itself  when  the  storms  build  up  a  sand-bar  across  its  natural 
mouth.  The  Indians  called  the  stream  the  "  Uiver  of  Standing  Stones;"  but  the  voy.i- 
gcum  named  it  "  Ba|)teme,"  probably  from  some  mission  or  work  of  conversion  on  il^ 
banks,  although   th<'   sailors   of  to-day  declare  that  it  was  so  called  because   a   persistent 


of  the   iiica- 

rs;   alontr  the 

tradinp^  with 

sent  eastward 

carried  them 

>)'agcurs  were 

lations  of  the 

of  tlu'    hil<e, 

I  journals  of 

)n  talkintr  of 

la   IJoutcille," 

ill  lingers  in 
vay  ;  and  vet 
remain, 
lilor  recently. 
The  steers- 
horus.     Thev 


les    are   now- 

:enstonc  aiul 
a  remarkal)le 

Palisades  of 
,'attered  over 
;tan(ls  almost 
light   he  said 

r,  like  giant 

they  a|)|)ear, 

down  to  the 
igh  which  it 
;  its  natural 
lit  the  voya- 
rsion  on  its 
a    persistent 


4o8 


PICTURESQUE    AMERICA. 


!'•         I 


scoffer  fell  in  accidentally,  and,  as  a  priest  was  standing  by,  he  baptized  the  man  in  spi,^ 
of  his  objections. 

Whether  or  not  the  voyageurs  were  the  authors  of  the  pun— the  one  pun  of  Lake 
Superior — is  not  known ;  but  it  must  he  confessed  that  the  witticism  has  a  modem 
sound.  It  is  attached  to  the  beautiful  harbor  of  Temperance  River,  which  is  said  to 
have  been  so  called  because  there  was  no  bar  at  the  mouth! 

The    portion    of   Minnesota    lying    back    of  this   coast    is   a   wilderness,   with   vajrue 


IsLiiul    No    I. 


rumors  of  precious  metals  hidden  in  its  recesses.  At  Pigeon  River  is  the  bounclarv- 
line  between  the  United  States  and  Canada;  and  here  begins  the  (Jrand  Portage, 
where,  through  a  scries  of  lakes  and  streams,  the  very  names  of  which  have  a  vild 
sound — Rainy  Lake,  Lake  of  the  \Voods,  and  Winnipeg — the  voyageurs  were  cnabKd, 
with  short  jx-tages,  to  take  their  canoes  through  to  the  Saskatchewan  and  the  Rrd 
River  of  the   North. 

The  whole  Canadian  shore  is  grandly  beautiful  in  every  variety  of  point,  bay,  island 
and  isolated  cliff.  Passing  Fort  William,  an  important  post  of  the  Hudson's  Bay  Com- 
pany, T  huiider  Cape  is  seen — a  basaltic  cliff,  thirteen  hundred  and  fifty  feet  high,  U|i(in 
the  summit  of  which  rest  the  dark  thunder-clouds,  su;>poscd  by  the  Indians  to  be  giant 
birds  brooding  upon  their  nests.     At  the  foot  oi   this  cliff,  near   the   shore,  is  Silver  \:\- 


LAKE    SUPERIOR. 


409 


ic  man  in  spi,^ 


ss,   with   vajrue 


and,  whose  low  surface,  over  whicli  the  waves  have  dashed  at  will,  is  now  diked  and 
protected  in  every  precious  inch.  The  silver,  however,  is  not  confined  to  this  little  dot 
ill  I  he  water ;  it  has  been  traced  to  the  main-land,  and  the  latest  maps  bear  the  six 
niauic  letters  stretched  generously  back  over  an  indefinite  space  of  wilderness  heretofore 
blank  paper.  The  tales  of  Silver  Island  are  like  pages  of  "Monte  Cristo."  "At  one 
lilasl,  out  of  the  shaft  came  two  tons,  valued  at  four  thousand  dollars  per  ton."  "  The 
company  commenced  building  breakwaters  September  ist;  and,  before  the  close  of 
navigation,  they  had  completed  their  erection,  and  had  mined  twenty-two  days,  with  the 
result  of  one  hundred  thousand  dollars'  worth  of  ore."  These  accounts  have  sent  hun- 
dictls  of  explorers  and  emigrants  into  this  wild  region  during  the  last  year,  and  the 
excitement  is  augmented  by  the  rumor  of  gold-mines  lying  west  of  Thunder  Bay.  The 
great  lake  now  needs  only  a  diamond  to  complete  its  encircling  crown  of  treasures, 

Neepigon  Bay,  or  the  Bay  of  Clear  Waters,  is  forty  miles  long  by  fifteen  broad 
and  contains  a  number  of  islands.  The  river  which  flows  into  this  bay  comes  from 
a  lake  which  has,  until  lately,  been  as  vaguely  known  as  the  sources  of  the  Nile. 
Tlic  hunters  told  of  it,  the  Indians  added  their  descriptions,  until  gradually  the  idea 
grew  into  existence  that  it  was  as  large  as  Lake  Erie.  The  recent  surveys  ordered  by 
tlie  Canadian  Government  show  that  it  is  seventy  miles  long  and  fifty  broad,  with 
copper-producing  rocks  and  probably  a  thousand  islets  or  more.  It  lies  back  about 
tliirty  miles  from  Lake  Superior. 

Beyond  Neepigon  Bay  eastward,  the  coast,  studded  with  water-falls  the  hues  of 
which  are  sometimes  a  bright-claret  color  of  varying  shades,  stretche?  for  miles  entirely 
uninhabited,  save  by  a  few  Indians.  Hunting-parties  from  the  lower-lake  towns  camp 
along  the  beach  occasionally  during  the  summer  months;  but  the  region  is  as  wild 
as  it  was  in  the  days  before  Columbus. 

At  Pic  River  is  a  post  of  the  Hudson's  Bay  Conipany ;  and  here  the  shore-line 
bends-  to  the  south,  and  the  lake  begins  to  narrow  toward  the  Sault.  At  Otter-Head 
tile  clilf  rises,  in  a  sheer  precipice,  one  thousand  feet  from  the  water,  and  on  its  summit 
stands  a  rock  like  a  monument,  which  on  one  side  shows  the  profile  of  a  man,  and  on 
the  other  the  distinct  outline  of  an  otter's  head.  The  Indians  never  passed  tiiis  point 
without  stopping  to  make  their  offerings  to  its  manitou.  Still  farther  south  is  the  broad 
bay  of  Micliipicoten,  or  the  "Bay  of  Hills;"  and  here  is  another  post  of  the  Hudson's 
Hiv  Company.  From  here  to  the  Sault,  all  along  the  shore,  minerals  of  various  kinds 
liave  been  fiuind ;  and,  as  the  country  is  o|)encd,  it  is  probable  that  this  half  of  the 
north  coast  of  the  lake  will  yield  as  many  treasures  as  the  llnited  States  side.  There 
are  a  nuinber  of  islands  in  the  lake,  many  of  them  unnamed  and  unnoticed,  but  worthy 
ol  description  on  canvas,  so  full  are  they  of  wild  beauty.  Their  time  will  yet  come. 
Among  the  large  islands  are  "  Michi|)icoten,"  "  Samt-lgiiace,"  and  rugged  "i'ic"  (Pie); 
and  farther  west   is   Isle   Royale,  the  largest   in    the  lake,  forty-five   miles  in    length,  and 


LAKE    SUPERIOR. 


411 


attaclied,  by  some  legislative  freak,  to  Houghton  County,  Michigan.  If  any  thing  can 
1)0  L.illed  old  in  the  mining  history  of  Lake  Superior,  this  island  deserves  the  name ; 
anil  since,  in  tlie  rapid  progress  of  the  New  World,  twenty-five  years  should  be  consid- 
ered as  an  equivalent  for  a  century  or  two  of  the  old,  Roya'e  may  well  he  called  an 
ancient  settlement;  for,  as  far  back  as  1847,  miners,  geologists,  capitalists,  and  vessels,  were 
all  there;  enthusiasm  waxed  high,  fortunes  shone  in  the  air,  and  the  whole  lake-country 
rant;  with  the  name  and  praises  of  the  wonderful  island.  Royal,  however,  it  did  not 
pni\  c,  in  spite  of  its  name ;  and,  one  by  one,  the  capitalists  came  back  to  civilization 
with  empty  purses,  and  all  faith  in  Lake  Superior  gone  forever.  Copper  exists  on  the 
island,  but  not  in  quantities  to  rival  the  great  masses  of  Keweenaw  Point ;  and  now 
Islo  Royale  is  again  solitary,  its  old  log-cabins  and  deserted  mines  giving  it  a  venerable 
aspect,  and  its  very  light-house  abandoned.  But,  in  spite  of  this  ignominy,  it  is  full  of 
beauty,  with  castellated  and  columned  cliffs  of  trap-rock,  rising  directly  up  from  water  so 
dcej)  that  the  largest  vessel  might  lie  in  safety  within  touching  distance. 

The  storms  of  Lake  Superior  are  often  violent,  but  not  so  dangerous  as  the  storms 
of  the  lower  lakes,  for  Superior  has  more  sea-room  ;  the  waves,  although  of  great  height 
and  force,  are  regular  and  united  when  comj)ared  with  the  short,  chopping  seas  of  Erie 
and  Michigan.  On  shore,  however,  the  storms  of  Lake  Superior  seem  terrific;  and  the 
ocean  itself  cannot  show  a  more  stormy  expanse  than  the  great  lake  in  a  September 
jrale.  _  ■ 

I'ew  of  the  poets  have  as  yet  reached  Superior.  One,  however,  has  made  the  great 
lake  the  scene  of  the  final  disappearance  of  Hiawatha,  and  the  lines  are  no  inapt  repre- 
sentation of  the  final  disappearance  of  the  Indian  race  from  among  men  : 


"On  the  shore  stood  Hiawatha, 
Turned  and  w-ived  his  hand  at  parting ; 
On  the  clear  and  liiminous  water 
Launched  his  birch-canoe  for  sailing ; 
Krom  the  pebbles  of  the  margin 
Slioved  it  forth  into  the  water; 
Whispered  to  it,  '  Westward  I  westward  1 ' 
And  with  speed  it  darted  forward. 
And  the  evening  sun  descending 
Set  the  clouds  on  fire  with  redness ; 
lUirned  the  broad  sky,  like  a  prairie; 
Left  upon  the  level  water 
One  1(  ng  track  and  trail  of  splendor, 
Down  \.ho5C  stream,  as  down  a  river, 
Westward,  westward,  Hiawatha 
Sailed  into  tlic  fiery  sunset, 
Sailed  into  the  purple  vapors, 
Sailed  into  the  dusk  of  evening." 


NORTHERN    CALIFORNIA. 


\v  nil     I  L  I.  u  s  r  RATIO  N  s    li  \-    r< .     swain    < ;  i  v  i-  t  >  r  d  . 


"IIP   1 


^  I  ^  1 1 1',  immigrants  who  iiavt' 
-*-  (Ictermined  to  join  tluir 
fortunes  with  tiic  State  of  Ore- 
gon, are  at  jirescnt  eompellcd  tn 
journey  hy  stage  from  Sacramento 
to  the  head-waters  of  tiie  Wilhi- 
mette,  thou<jh  here  and  there  an 
portions,  already  com|)leted,  ol 
the  cominj;  railroad  tiiat  is  t" 
ink  the  ('oluml)ia  to  the  Sacni 
inento.       Wearisome     as    is    tin 


NORTHERN    CALIFORNIA. 


413 


ts    who    liavr 
to     join    tluir 
Slate   of  On- 
compelled  lii 
ni  Sacrament  11 
of  the  Willa- 
and  there  an 
jompleted,    ol 
id    that    is    tn 
to  the  Sacra- 
le     as    is     thi 


tiMiisit    in    the    immiprant- 
waui'ii,  it  is  fTonerally   prc- 
fcrrcil,  by  those  whose  des- 
tination is  Southern  Oregon, 
to  the  sea-voyage  round  to 
I'oiiland,    and     thence     by 
steamer  down    the    Colum- 
bia and  its  tributaries.  The 
vailev   of    the    Sacramento, 
at  first  with  an   undulating 
surface,  and  diversitied  with 
earth -waves   crowned   with 
noiilc    oaks,   as   we    ascend 
northward  r.preads  out  into 
treeless   prairies,   as   tlat   as 
those  of  Illinois.     The  first 
hrealc  in   the   monotony  of 
the    expanse    is    made    by 
the    Marysville    Buttes  —  a 
short  range  of  low,  volcanic 
liills,    which    rise    suddenly 
out    of    the    prairie.      The 
tiiwn    of   Marysville    is    at 
some    distance,    and    is    on 
a   tributary   of    the    Sacra- 
mento,  called    the    Feather 
i^iver;  but  the  Buttes  loom 
up  Irom   the   eastern    bank 
of   the    Sacramento,  which 
hen'    is    lined   witii    alders 
ami  cotton-trees.      Tlie   lat- 
ter are   broad   and    uml)ra- 
,i(ius,   but    not    high,   and 
ihrir    dark -green      foliage 
contrasts      pleasantly     with 
the    gloomy     brown     hues 
of  the  fire-born  hills.      Na- 
\\\K'  grape-vines  trail  along 
tin      ground,      and      cling 


414 


PIC  TURESQUE    AMERICA. 


around  the  trunks  of  the  trees,  hano^ing  Hkc  Arcadian  curtains,  and  making  pictun  (]ue 
bowers,  unheeded  by  the  inhabitants  ot  the  various  randies,  who  are  somewhat  prosaic 
in  character,  and  given  much  to  considerations  of  profits  in  wheat-rcising.  IJelwccn 
these  one  catches  gUmpses  of  the  river,  flowing  onward  with  a  still,  deep  current,  Pllcct- 
ing  placidly  the  masses  of  green  foliage,  and  the  trailing  vines,  and  the  wliite  sails  ol  the 
small  vessels  gliding  downward  v/ith  the  tide.  Deep  pools  here  and  there  give  back  the 
blue  of  the  cloudless  sky ;  and,  as  a  bass  accompaniment,  come  in  the  dark  shadows  of 
the  Buttes,  with  tiieir  sharply-drawn  angles  and  their  truncated  cones.  The  siojies  that 
rise  from  the  banks  have  a  very  gradual  ascent,  and  are  dotted  with  ranches,  plea'^antiy 
hid  by  orchards  and  vineyards.  High  up  as  far  as  vegetation  goes  the  cattle  graze;  l)ut, 
from  the  acuteness  of  the  sides  above  the  slopes,  little  earth  can  cling  to  them,  iind 
therefore  they  present  a  bare  and  hungry  appearance,  intensified  by  contrast  with  the 
smiling  river,  and  the  slopes  blessed  by  Pomona  and  by  Ceres.  Not  altogether  deserted 
are  these  barren  crests ;  for,  where  the  cattle  do  not  care  to  stray,  the  sportsman  is  sure 
of  finding  the  California  hare,  whose  numbers  seem  infinite.  The  flesh  is  capital,  save 
where  the  animal  feeds  entirely  on  the  wild-spge,  which  gives  it  an  intensely  bitter  taste. 
Looking  from  the  cones  of  these  hills  to  the  right  and  left,  the  eve  glances  over  miles 
upon  miles  of  flat  plains,  where  fields  of  wheat  succeed  to  vineyards  and  to  groves  of 
oak,  broken  only  by  the  wooden  buildings  of  the  settlers.  In  the  far  distance  can  he 
faintly  discerned  the  undulations  of  the  foot-hills  on  either  side — the  first  indications  of 
the  Coast  Range  to  the  left  and  the  Sierra  Nevada  to  the  right. 

When  the  traveller  gets  to  the  Lassens  Buttes,  he  has  reached  the  first  mountains 
which  are  capped  by  perpetual  snows.  The  river  winds  at  the  feet  of  these  giants  of 
stone,  and  its  banks  begin  to  show  traces  of  the  higher  ground,  in  the  degeneration  of 
the  cotton-wood-trees,  and  the  improvement  in  tiie  appearance  of  the  oaks,  which  here 
are  very  lordly.  The  trunks  are  huge ;  and,  tiiough  the  height  is  not  remarkable,  the 
spread  of  the  boughs  is  enormous,  and  the  shade  afforded  is  singularly  refreshing  to  men 
and  beasts  fainting  under  the  fierce  sun.  Not  only  are  the  banks  crowned  with  groups 
of  these  trees,  but  the  low,  brown  hills  at  the  foot  of  these  snow-clad  summits  are  fiirlv 
embowered  in  their  luxuriant  groves.  They  impress  the  beholder  forcibly  as  being  \ery 
old,  not  only  from  the  imn.ense  reach  of  their  huge  boughs,  but  from  the  masses  of  mis- 
tletoe that  live  upon  their  trunks.  Seen  in  the  early  morning,  when  enveloped  in  soiii'hre 
mist,  they  give  a  mysterious  beauty  to  the  bases  of  the  mountains  at  this  point.  When 
the  word  has  gone  forth  among  the  caravans  of  immigrants  to  get  ready  the  morninu's 
meal,  preparatory  to  resuming  the  journey,  the  scene  is  one  of  peculiar  beauty.  Above 
is  the  vault  of  intense  blue,  with  the  stars  glittering  like  "patens  of  bright  gold."  A 
few  faint,  rosy  clouds  fleck  the  heavens,  and  reveal  the  iridescent  splendor  of  the  snowy 
crests,  which  glow  with  all  the  colors  of  the  opal  or  of  an  iceberg.  The  shadows  from 
these  summits  are  of  the  most  brilliant  purple,  and  blend  slowly  and  gradually  with  tlie 


r  pictun  -^cjue 
what  pn.iaic 
g.  Between 
irrcnt,  nllm- 
i  sails  of  ihc 
ivc  back  the 
sliadous  of 
c  slopes  that 
OS,  pleasantly 
;  graze;  but, 
o  them,  and 
■ast  with  the 
thor  deserted 
small  is  sure 
capital,  save 
'  bitter  taste, 
s  over  miles 
o  groves  of 
iince  can  he 
idications  of 

St  mountains 
;se  giants  of 
eneration  of 
,  which  here 
narkable,  the 
hing  to  men 
with  groups 
lits  are  fairly 
s  being  very 
asses  of  mis- 
■d  in  soniiire 
oint.  When 
ic  morninii's 
uty.  Abuve 
t  gold."  A 
f  the  snowy 
liadows  fViiiii 
illy  with  tile 


i'     1 


UK 


416 


PICTURESQUE    AMERICA. 


dull  l.rown  of  the  mountain-sides.  The  veil  of  mist,  exquisitely  thin  and  transparent 
half-way  up,  permits  the  eye  to  detect  the  scars  and  hollows  channelled  by  fire  and 
storm  in  the  rude,  volcanic  sides.  As  the  base  is  reached,  the  thickness  of  this  silvcrv 
veil  increases,  until  it  hides  every  thinj;  in  its  fleecy  folds,  cave  where,  comparalivclv 
close  at  hand,  the  groups  of  oaks  detach  themselves  from  the  mountains,  and  add  an 
additional  awe  and  mystery  to  tlv.  glory  of  the  sunrising.  Looking  southward,  tliu 
river,  that  before  flowed  with  such  a  quiet,  slumberous  current  through  groves  of  altlers, 
and  clumps  of  cotton-wood,  and  curtains  of  clustering  vines,  lac'en  in  autumn  witli  ])ui- 
ple  grapes,  has  now  roused  itself  to  energy,  and  courses  along  with  a  hoarse  murmur, 
battling  with  the  bowlders  and  the  fragmentary  rocks  that  have  fallen  into  its  l)cd  and 
dispute  its  passage.  Lieyond  the  river,  stretches  the  interminable  prairie,  where  the  fields 
of  harvested  wheat  lie  wrapped  in  slumber ;  and  not  a  single  ranch  gives  even  a  token 
of  life.  The  light,  stealing  u|)on  the  broad  siiadows,  first  touches  the  tops  of  the  ])rai.ie- 
wagons,  and  glorities  the  brass  ornaments  of  the  patient  mules.  Then,  making  more  and 
more  progress,  it  s;.'<ies  upon  tiie  broken  and  fragm<."ntar)'  huts  that  Indians  have  left, 
and  at  last,  in  full  glory  of  splendor,  brings  out  tiie  yellow  of  the  cultivated  fieUls  and 
tiie  coarse  l)rown  of  tiie  sandy  soil.  Where  farming  has  not  been  attempted,  tiie  jilain 
is  covered  with  a  stunted  vegetation,  diversified  w'lh  the  bitter-sage.  There  aic  fre(|iient 
indentations  of  wagon-wheels,  for  these  mountains  are  a  ^pu-  of  tiie  Sierra  Nevada,  and 
this  trail  goes  u|)  to  tiie  mining  regions.  Hy  this  route  most  of  the  freiglit  for  that 
rough  part  of  tiie  world  is  carried,  and  the  wagons  come  back  latlen  with  dull  iiv.;()i< 
of  precious  silver.  The  American  ranch,  where  the  accompanying  view  wis  taken,  is 
never  witiiout  scores  of  guests  either  going  or  returning  to  the  rr.ining  territrries  of 
Northeastern  California.  To  them  the  great  cone  of  the  extinct  volcano  is  a  well-i<iu>\vn 
landmark,  with  whose  ap|)carance  they  are  perfectly  familiar.  It  remains  in  sigiil  fm 
days  after  it  has  been   left   iteiiind. 

The  trail  of  the  intended  railroad  now  strikes  into  the  deeply  -  wooded  valliy  of 
I'itt  Rivii.  This  is  reached  through  a  road  constantly  ascending  through  sunny  valleys, 
and  among  brown  hills  covered  willi  super!)  oaks.  (  )n  the  crest  that  surmounts  the  v.d- 
ley  of  the  Pitt,  hue  pines  are  reae'  'd,  which  are  grouped  in  masses  considerable  eimuuli 
to  be  styled  a  forest.  This  extends  along  the  line  of  the  river  w!ich,  cutting  iis  way 
through  the  Sierra,  falls  toward  the  west  in  a  series  of  white,  tumultuous  rapids.  Ni^ini; 
directly  from  this  pine-laden  crest  is  a  range  of  granite  and  limestone  rocks,  which  at- 
tains an  elevation  from  the  plain  oi  three  thousand  feel,  and  is  broken  into  a  nuiltiliule 
of  ragged  forilis.  The  granite  is  a  bluish  gray,  which  iilicves  the  da/zling  white  of  iIk 
limestone.  When  the  sun  shines  upon  the  latter,  the  obstiver  can  haidU  tell  it  fi'  in 
marble,  so  brilli,  it  is  its  snowy  hue.  'Ihe  line  of  these  singular  bills  is  of  considcLille 
length,  (xtending,  indeed,  along  the  whole  valley  of  the  I'itt.  When  the  crests  are  of 
granite,  the   forms   are   of  that    bold,  bluir  charactei   so  peculiar  to  crystalline  rocks,  hut, 


and   transp;iient 
'cd    by   fire   and 

of  this  silvery 
i,  comparativelv 
ns,  and   add  an 

southward,  tlif 
Toves  of  alders, 
tumn  with  \m- 
hoarse  murmur, 
ito  its  bed  and 
vhert  the  liekls 
s  even  a  token 
s  of  the  prai.ie- 
iking-  more  and 
dians  have  left, 
^ated  fields  and 
aptcd,  the  plain 
LTC  aic  fre(|iient 
ra  Nevada,  ami 
freifrlit  for  that 
dth  dull  in;:ols 
'  WIS  taken,  i- 
r  terrif cries  oi' 
is  a  well-kmnvn 
IS   in    sijilit   fur 

oded  vallev  of 
I  sunny  valleys, 
nounts  the  val- 
dcrable  eiiminli 
cuttinjf  iis  wav 
ra|)ids.  Ri^inu 
)cks,  which  .m- 
iito  a  nuilliiiuli' 
I  white  (if  ilie 
\\y  tell  it  Ir.iin 
of  consideiil  Ir 
I'  eri'Sls  ail  '  i 
line  rocks,  Imi, 


G/.STKI-LATEiJ    BOCK 


4i8 


PICTURESQUE    AMERICA. 


where  they  arc  of  limestone,  their  appearance  is  finely  castellated.     The  peaks   have  hctji 
w-ouirht,  by  the   cunninjj    hand  of   Nature,  into  the  guise  of  gigantic   castles   of  ihc  El 
Dorado    land.       Battlement    and    bartizan    and    huge    donjon  -  keep    present    their   sluuji 
angles   and   clearly-delined  walls   against    the   brilliant   blue  of  the   California  sky.      line 
and    there   coniferous   trees  have    attained  a  root-hold  on  the  almost   perpendicular  walls, 
and  flaunt  their  branches  Tke  the  banners  of  a  jiroud  castellan.      Nor  is  sound  waiuinjr 
to  complete  'he  illusion,  for  the  slirill  scream  of  the  bald-eagle  is  heard   from  the  lofties; 
and  most  inaccessible  peaks,  where  these  birds  build  their  eyries,  and  whence  they  survey 
the  land   with   tiiat  strange  air  of  watchfuh.ess  which   distinguishes   birds   of  |Mey.     The 
beasts  that  live  l)y  rapine,  cspeciallv  the  Eclidcc,  naturally  assume  attitudes  of  repose,  and 
are  essentially  la/y,  with  a  graceful  indolence ;  but  the  birds  of   the   Raptorcs  group   me 
ever  on  the  lookout,  ever  piercing  the  distance  with  their  bright,  sun-defying  eyes.     And 
the  natural  blind  that  Providence  has  given  to  their  eyes  is  of  all  places  necessary  here; 
for   the   glare   of  the   noonday  sun,   falling    upon    these   peaks   of   snowy    limestone   that 
rear   themselves    upward    for   three   thousand  feet  like  a  huge   ice-wall,  without  tiie  relief 
of  a    single    break,  is    positively  blinding.      There   are   no   shadows,  save  where   here  and 
there  a   haughty  crag   overtops   its   fellows,  and    mounts   up    in    the    semblance  of  tower 
or  Gothic  spire  of  Giantland.      Here,  from   the  dazzling  white,  the   shadows   are  a  deter- 
mined blue,  and  one  might  think  one's  self   in  Al|)ine  countries,  or   among   the   everlast- 
ing   snow-peaks    of   the    Sierra.      The    eye    turns,  with  a  sense   of  cxcjuisite   relief,  to  I'ne 
wooded   crest    below,  where   the    sugar-jMnes   stand    in    glorious    phalan.xes.      These   tices 
grow  to  an  immense  height,  often  not  less  than  three  hundred  feet,  though   their  diame- 
ter is  onlv  eight.      This  gives   them  an  appearance   of  slenderness  and  grace    resenihliiia: 
the   effect    piodueed   by    Saracenic    columns;   an    effect   heightened    to    the   utmost    piteh 
of   idealism    by   the   character  of  the   trees.      I'or    fully  one    hundted   and   fifty  feet  these 
lovely  trunks   are    branchless,  and    as   symmetrically  rounded  as  even  a  Neo-(  ireeki>li   ar- 
chitect   could    desire.      The  hue  is  a  bluish    i)ur|)le,  delicately  marked  with  a  net-work  uf 
scorings.      From    the    point   where    the    branches  commence,  they  stretch  out   with  nearly 
level  poise  straiglit   from  tiie  shaft,  and   their  leaves  are  tiark-green   spiciihe,  to  which   ih( 
noondav  sun  gives  a  yellow  tinting.     Lying  down  at   the  bases  of  these   regal    pines   and 
gazing  upward,  one  sees  the  foliage  massed  with    fairy-like    grace    against   the  white  wall-' 
of   the    limestone,  and   above    these    three  thousand   feet   of  Minding  glare  is  the  sky,  like 
blue  fill',  into  whose  de|)ths  the  eye  seems  to  jiieree.      Dut   the   siigar-jiines  are  not  alone. 
Often    they  are    mixed  with    fns  of  feathery,  bluish-green    foliage,  hiding   by  its   mass  the 
dark-brown  trunks.     .\nd  then,  inoie  rarely,  is  found   the   liig  tice,  par  cxcclU'tuc,  the  .S'c- 
ijHoia    j^ii^diitta.       Tluse,  however,  are    aristocraiie,  and    aie  generally   to  he  met   with  in 
open    glades,  green  with    herbage,  and  bright  with   the  blossoms  of  many  flowers.     Some 
have  a  eireumfeieme  at   the  base  o<    one  hundred  and  thirty  feet,  and   lise  to  an  altitude 
of  three  hundred  feel.       The  bark  is  excessively  thick,  scored  with  deep,  regular  gidoy  - 


peaks  have  liutn 
;astles  of  tlie  FJ 
sent  their  sluii|i 
)mia  sky.  I  Ice 
ijiendi'jular  walls, 
s  sound  waiuinsr 

from  tlie  lofiics; 
encc  tliey  survey 
s  of  prey.  The 
cs  of  repose,  and 
'ttorcs  jj^roup  arc 
lyintj  eyes.  And 
s  necessary  here: 
limestone  that 
ithout  tile  nliil 

wliere  iiere  and 
ihlanee  «jf  tdwer 
ovvs  arc  a  deter- 
mjr  the  everlast- 
iite  relief,  to  \\,v 
es.  These  trees 
Jjrh  their  di.iine- 
^raco  resenihlinc 
he  utmost  pilch 
:i  fiity  feet  I  lies,- 
'seo-dreekiNii  ar- 
il a   net -work  nl 

out  witli  n(,irl\ 
;e,  to  uhieli  I  Ik 
rejujal    |)ines  and 

llie  white  uall- 

■  is  the  sky,  like 
L's  are  not  alone 

hy  its  mass  tli( 
xcclU'Hic,  the  S, - 
he  met   with  in 

■  llowcrs.     Some 
iC  to  an  altilndi 

regular  jjroov  ^ 


420 


PICTURESQUE    AMERICA. 


and  of  bright-brown  color,  mottled  with  purple  and  yellow.  The  foliage  of  these  huge 
trees  is  delicate  beyond  description,  and  has  been  aptly  compared  to  a  pale  mist  of  ajiplc- 
green  hue.  Old,  very  old,  are  these  trees,  and  many  things  have  they  seen,  and  nianv 
secrets  do  tiieir  Hamadryads  keep.  Many  of  the  sugar-pines  are  a  thousand  years  in 
being,  and  the  giant  sequoias  more  than  double  that  tremendous  age. 

Though  the  granite  and  limestone  hills  extend  with  unbroken  grandeur  along  the 
line  of  tiie  Fitt  River,  the  pine-grown  crest  is  broken  here  and  there  where  the  valiev 
broadens,  and  from  the  opposite  bank  the  land  stretches  out  into  breadths  of  prairie. 
Here  the  Indians,  known  by  the  name  of  the  river,  arc  mostly  to  be  found,  encamj)ed 
in  great  numbers  on  the  plain,  which  is  covered  by  a  long,  rank,  tangled  grass,  almost 
overtopping  the  traveller's  head.  There  are  not  wanting  trees,  for  manzanitas  and  suirar- 
maples  grow  in  clumps  upon  the  plain  ;  and  on  the  opposing  slopes,  wherever  the  lime- 
stone is  not  too  precipitous,  there  are  dense,  serried  ranks  of  firs,  and  occasionally  in  tiie 
ravines  a  stunted  growth  of  cotton-wood.  And,  wherever  there  are  foot-hills,  the  oaks 
abound,  displaying  their  far-reaching  branches  and  their  lustrous  leaves.  The  river  is 
quite  rapid,  but  neither  broad  nor  deep.  It  abounds  in  salmon,  which  are  so  thick  as 
to  shoulder  each  other,  as  the  Irishiran  said.  This  accounts  for  the  presence  of  the  In- 
dians, who  secure  the  fish  by  spearing.  With  the  habitual  wastefulness  of  their  race, 
they  will  only  take  the  salmon  that  are  in  the  highest  condition,  and,  when  a  fish  has 
been  brought  to  the  surface  struggling  on  the  cruel  barbs  of  the  spear,  with  his  silver} 
sides  flashing  in  the  sunlight,  if  he  does  not  please  the  fastidious  "  buck,"  he  is  instantly 
rejected,  and  committed  in  a  dying  condition  to  the  water.  High  over  head,  wherever 
an  Indian  spears,  will  be  found  soaring  a  bald-headed  eagle,  too  lazy  to  fish  for  himself, 
and  having  no  osprey  to  rob  here.  As  soon  as  the  rejected  salmon  is  seen  floating  down 
the  swift  current,  the  eagle  descends  like  a  falling-star,  and,  seizing  the  hapless  victim  in 
his  strong  talons,  bears  him  away  to  his  castellated  eyry. 

The  region  of  the  Pitt  River,  or,  as  it  is  termed  by  the  map-makers,  the  1^]^ 
Sacramento,  is  an  absolute  wilderness.  Lake  and  fiekl  and  fell,  naked  crag  and  towiriii^; 
pine-clad  crest,  succeed  each  other  with  a  savage  grandeur  similar  to,  but  far  greater 
than,  that  of  the  wilderness  of  the  Adirondacks.  To  the  south  and  east  are  the  iron- 
hills,  enfolding  in  their  rocky  clasp  millions  of  treasure,  that  will  be  brought  out  in  tin 
future  generations.  At  present  the  Indians  give  much  trouble  to  the  authorities,  and  are 
continually  making  combinations  with  the  northern  tribes,  those  of  the  Modoec  and 
Rogue  Rivers.  Their  camps  are  somewhat  pictures()ue  in  (heir  general  jispect,  and  when 
viewed  from  a  distance;  bul  a  nearer  look  destn)ys  the  charm.  In  front  of  each  hut  will 
be  found  a  squ.iw  of  preternatural  ugliness,  curing  the  salmon  by  s|)litli!ig  it,  and  dryinj.;  ilie 
pieces  in  rows  upon  light  scafl'nldings  of  wicker-work.  These  are  subsequently  snu'kfd 
over  low  fires  of  fragrant  fir.  Mach  scjuaw  is  expected  to  attend  to  (his  business, 
and  to  perform   her   maternal  duties;   and  the  papoose,  stiffened   in  a  mummy-like   roll,  'v- 


i 

icur   alone;  the 
here   the  vullev 
dths   of  prairie. 
)und,  encamped 
;d  grass,  almost 
litas  anil  siisrar- 
ircver  the  lime- 
asionally  in  the 
t-hills,  the  oaks 
The   river  is 
are  so  thick  as 
encc  of  the  In- 
s   of  their   race, 
vhen  a  fish   has 
with  his  silver}- 
'  he  is  instantly 
head,  wherever 
fish    for  himself, 
:n  floating  down 
lapless  victim  in 

kers,  the    Upper 
ng  and  towering; 

hut  (at  greater 
St  are  the  imii- 
ught  out  In  the 
:horities,  ami  are 
n-  Modoec  ami 
ispecl,  and  wluii 

of  each  hut  will 
t,  and  drying  ihe 
cquently  sninked 
.o  this  business. 
tnmv-like   roll,  i-^ 


4^.' 


PICTURESQUE   AMERICA. 


shiii<r  handily  at  her  back,  ami  sliijpcil  roiincl  to  the  breast  wlienevcr  hungry.  TLcsc 
babies  never  cry,  but  stare  at  the  stranger  with  weird,  black,  beady  eyes,  and  with  ab;  urd 
gravity.  ' 

From  the  valley  of  the  Pitt  the  traveller  rises,  continually  traversir.^  woods  covcied 
with  fair  mountain-pines,  until,  through  a  notch  to  the  northward,  a  glimpse  can  l)i' 
caught  of  the  huge  summit  of  Shasta,  which  we  illustrate  by  a  steel-plate  engraving. 
The  tents  are  generally  pitched  at  Sissons,  which  is  surrounded  by  a  cluster  of  raiiclns 
embowered  in  vineyards  and  orchards,  that  are  trebly  mviting  to  the  eye  after  the 
weary  tramp  through  the  wilderness.  The  ground,  where  not  cultivated,  gives  only  a 
thin  sward  of  grass,  with  tufts  of  the  bitter-sage.  Rising  from  the  plain  are  hundreds  of 
small  volcanic  liills,  built  up  out  of  the  lava,  the  mud,  and  scoria-,  thrown  out  from  the 
crater  above  in  other  times.  Beyond,  there  is  what  may  be  termed  the  base  of  the 
mountain,  attaining  an  aUitude  of  some  two  thousand  feet,  and  throwing  out  spurs  in 
every  direction.  Above  this  the  cone  of  the  mountain  rises  in  one  tremendous  swccji  to 
a  sheer  height  of  eleven  thousand  feet.  The  stupendous  proportions  of  this  great  snow- 
peak  would  alone  i)e  sufficient  to  rivet  the  attention  of  every  traveller.  Fiut  to  these 
must  l)e  added  a  most  wonderful  play  of  color.  'l"he  lava  forming  the  body  of  the  moun- 
tain, which  penetrates  often  through  the  snow-part,  is  of  a  jiale  rosy  hue,  and,  when  the 
sun  shines  on  this,  it  has  a  splendor  which  words  are  too  weak  to  render  adeciuately.  The 
snow,  with  its  pure,  white,  Heeey  fields,  is  in  many  places  diversified  by  great  glaciers  of 
ice  and  yawning  crevasses,  in  whose  de|)ths  are  shadows  of  the  most  intense  blue.  Upon 
the  veins  of  the  ice  the  sunbeams  fall  with  refracted  glory,  giving  forth  the  most  won- 
derful opalescent  tints.  Here,  in  some  places,  the  hues  are  green  as  emerald;  there,  in 
others,  there  is  a  lurid  puij)le,  interstriated  with  a  tender  |)ink.  In  other  spots,  the  pre- 
vailing tone  is  a  rich  cream-color,  perfectly  translucent.  The  snow,  too,  has  its  colors,  but 
generally  glows  with  an  incandescent  '(\k  under  the  welcoming  kisses  of  the  solar  ravs. 
So  lieautiful,  so  varied,  are  the  effects  jjroduci'd  by  the  mingling  colors  of  lava,  of  snuw, 
and  of  iee-enamelling,  that,  for  days,  the  beholder  cannot  consider  other  things.  His 
eyes  are  ever  strained  u|)oii  the  |)eak,  and  bent  admiringly  upon  its  lustrous  hues  anil 
the  deep,  violet  shadows  that  contrast  them.  He  has  but  one  thought — to  watch  the  i.i- 
diation  of  color  at  sunrisings  and  settings,  and  see  the  fiery  rays  slant  and  shoot  across 
the  great  mass,  working  its  ])arts  up  from  the  still  white  and  steely  gray  of  night  to  all 
the  splendors  of  the  northern  lights.  Sometimes,  when  the  sun  is  at  its  greatest  heigiil. 
a  thin,  lleeey  veil  of  vapor  steals  fiom  the  round  rim  of  tiie  topmost  crater,  and  one  can- 
not but  feel  a  sudden  contraction  of  the  heart  as  the  thought  flashes  upon  the  mind  that 
Shasta  is  still  active,  and  that  that  light,  transparent  cloudlet  is  smoke  issuing  from  its 
inmost  secrets.  The  imagination  and  the  memory  combine  to  tell  how  this  might  be,  how 
volcanoes  in  l]iiio|)( ,  notably  \'esuvius,  slept  calmly,  as  if  e.xtinet  and  ilead,  for  more  than 
a  thousand   years,  .md   then    woke   up   to  hurl   death   and  ili'struclion   for  leagues  around, 


Ipij 


lunsrv.      Those 
lid  with  al)'ui(i 

woods  covcied 
liiiipse   can    he 
late   engraving, 
;tcr   of  ranches 
eye    after   the 
I,  jjives   only  a 
e  liundreds  of 
I  out   from  tile 
e    l)ase   of  the 
f  out  sjjurs  ill 
dous  sweep  to 
lis  jrrcat  snow- 
Hut    to    these 
'  of  the  niouii- 
and,  when  the 
equately.    The 
-•at  jrlaciers  of 
,"  l)lue.     Upon 
he  most  woii- 
rald;  there,  in 
|)ots,  the  pre- 
ils  colors,  lull 
he  solar  ra\s. 
lava,  of  snow, 
liiinjjs.      His 
)us    hues   and 
watch  the  i,i- 
I  shoot  across 
iiij,dit  to  all 
cat  est  heij^hl. 
and  one  can- 
he  mind  th.ii 
iiiiii;   from  is 
li.uht  he,  how 
)r  more  than 
jLfues  around 


UMI'WU(\     CANON. 


4«4 


PIC  TURESQ  UE    A  M ERICA . 


But,  whether  Shasta  is  dead  in  reality  or  only  sleeping,  it  is  certain  that  the  vapor  is 
not  smoke,  but  is  water  collected  in  the  crater  at  a  sufficient  depth  to  preserve  it  from 
congelation,  whicii  the  sun's  ardor  has  released  in  the  form  of  cloud.  It  is  pleasant  to 
watcii  it  wreathing  softly  around  the  royal  giant's  head,  and  to  note  the  conduct  of  the 
stratus-clouds  that,  far  below,  come  in  contact  with  his  breast.  They  sweep  on,  gliding 
gently  in  fair,  straight  lines,  but,  as  soon  as  they  touch  him,  begin  to  break  up  softly, 
and,  having  done  their  best  to  girdle  him,  are  either  converted  into  glittering  snow-flakes, 
and  lie  softly  upon  his  bosom,  or  appear  as  cirri,  and  float  away  into  the  upper  air. 

When  the  eye  has  been  satiated  with  tiie  radiant  colors  of  Shasta,  tiie  mind  begins 
to  be  impressed  with  its  vast  proportions.  Its  total  elevation  above  the  sea-line  is  four- 
teen thousand  four  hundred  and  forty  feet,  nearly  the  same  height  as  Mont  Blanc,  the 
monarch  of  European  mountains.*  But  Mont  Blanc  is  broken  into  a  succession  of 
peaks,  which  the  eye  cannot  take  in  at  the  same  time,  except  from  such  a  distance  as 
to  dwarf  the  grand  effect.  Not  so  with  Shasta.  Standing  in  front  of  Sissons,  the  eve 
is  permitted  to  take  the  whole  at  one  glance.  There  was  no  cumulative  series  of  effects 
of  Nature  in  building  up  tiiis  mountain,  for  it  is  a  gigantic  peak  set  simply  upon  a 
broad  base  that  sweeps  out  far  and  wide  in  every  direction.  From  the  base  the  cone 
rises  upward  in  one  tremendous  sweep  of  lava  and  ice.  Very  sheer  and  precipitous  is  it 
to  the  north  and  south,  but  east  and  west  there  are  two  grand  slopes,  from  the  ])iain 
rigiit  u|)  to  the  rim  of  tiie  crater.  These  are  the  buttresses  of  Nature's  great  chimnev. 
One  of  these,  being  free  from  impediments  of  crevasses  and  glaciers,  is  generally  chosen 
by  travellers  who  wish  to  make  the  ascent,  wb.ich  is  not  difficult  This  is  in  the  diiee- 
tion  of  Strawberry  \^illey,  a  ciiarming  place,  rightly  named,  belonging  to  a  gentleman 
whose  peaches  are  yearly  reckoned  by  the  thousand  bushels,  and  his  grapjs  by  the  ton. 
He  has  built  an  excellent  turnpike-road  outside  of  the  valley,  on  which  the  toll  is  by 
no  means  light.  From  the  tower-house,  the  view  of  the  great  Shasta  is  very  jileasinir, 
because  one  loses  sight  of  the  vulgar  little  mud-hills  which,  from  Sissons,  insist  on  adorn- 
ing the  foreground,  and  one  gets  a  noble  idea  of  the  glorious  girdle  of  forest  wiiieh 
clothes  the  base.  Beyond  a  well-defined  line  the  ascent  toils  upward  without  a  tree  or 
siirub  to  ciiccr  it  on  the  way,  retaining  nothing  save  a  little  stunted  herbage.  This  is 
soon  rejilaced  by  the  pale,  roseate  lava,  and  above  that  comes  the  deep  blue  of  the  snow 
in  shallow.  The  road  winds  through  Strawberry  \^illey,  over  a  soil  entirely  of  pumice- 
stone;  and  it  is  odd  to  see  great  sugar-pines,  whose  roots  are  firmly  embedded  in 
masses  of  this  substance.  Around  Shasta  this  tree  produces  its  most  enormous  cones, 
some  of  them  being  fully  eighteen  inches  in  length. 

The  road  passes,  on  its  left.  Black  Butte,  another  extinct  volcano  of  consideralile 
size,  which  ap|)ears  dimly  in  the  far  distance.  After  leaving  behind  Lower  Klain.ilh 
Lake,  in  a  coujile  of  days  one  sees  rising  in  the  blue  air  the  singular  form  of 
Pilot    Knob,  an   elevation    of  the  Siskiyou    Mountains  which,  becoming   a   landmark   to 


it  the  vapor  is 
reserve  it  from 

is  pleasant  to 
;onduct  of  ihe 
:ep  on,  glitling 
)reak  up  softly, 
ng  snow-flakes, 
upper  air. 
le  mind  begins 
;ea-line  is  four- 
ont    Blanc,  the 

succession  of 
1  a  distance  as 
issons,  the  eye 
series  of  effects 
simply  upon  a 

base  the  cone 
Drecipitous  is  it 

from  the  plain 

great  chimney, 
enerally  chosen 
is  in  the  direc- 
o  a  gentleman 
pjs  by  the  ton. 

the  toll  is  by 
i  very  pleasinj;, 
insist  on  adorn- 
)f  forest  uiiieh 
thout  a  tree  or 
rbagc.  This  is 
Lie  of  the  snow- 
rely  of  pumice- 
y  embedded  in 
normous  cones, 


of  consideralile 
^ower  Klamath 
gular  form  of 
a   landmark   to 


# 


h 


#^' 


.  ,&t 


,*r^ 


V 


V 


m 


"^m 


426 


PICTURESQUE   AMERICA. 


immigrants  journeying  to  Oregon,  has  attained  its  name.  This  rock  is  a  great  mass  of 
black  volcanic  substance,  which  rises  p.,rpendicularly  from  t!ie  mountain-crest.  The  Sis- 
kiyou Range  has  here  an  elevation  of  twenty-five  huiid'^ed  feet,  and  the  knob  is  aliout 
five  hundred  feet  higher;  but  its  singularity  has  led  to  great  exaggeration,  and  many 
travellers  have  spoken  of  it  as  eighteen  hundred  feet  high,  and  of  the  Siskiyou  Moun- 
tains as  next  to  Shasta  in  importance.  This  is  simply  ridiculous.  The  aspect  of  the 
pass  is  not  very  prepossessing.  The  volcanic  origin  of  the  mountains  all  through  this 
region  accounts  for  their  singular  lack  of  beauty.  The  angles  are  so  sharp  that  the  earth 
which  covers  their  skeletons  cannot  adhere,  and  comes  off  in  great  land-slides,  leaving 
the  mountain-sides  bare  and  exposed.  But  the  trees  which  skirt  the  base  of  the  liills 
are  veiy  beautiful.  Every  step  toward  Oregon  from  this  point  seems  to  increase  the 
size  of  the  forests.  The  trees  grow  thicker  together,  and  the  firs  and  pines  are  lan;cr, 
There  are  also  birches,  balsams,  ashes,  spruces,  and  other  trees  of  northern  climates,  and 
it  must  be  noted  that  the  numbc-  and  size  of  the  fit.;  is  continually  increasing,  until 
they  predominate  over  the  pines.  There  is  no  lack  of  oaks,  too,  through  these  valleys, 
and  the  wagon-trail  often  winds  through  groves  that  are  park-like  in  the  beauty  of  tiicir 
natural  arrangement;  for  there  is  this  singularity  about  the  oaks  of  this  region,  that  thcv 
grow  in  groups  or  clumps,  with  just  such  distance  between  th(!m  as  permits  the  fullest 
dv'velopment  of  each  individual,  and  yet  preserves  them  in  masses  of  the  highest  bcautv. 
No  landscape-jrardener  has  completed  his  education  who  has  not  studied  the  oaks  of 
Northern  California.  The  mistletoe  is  found  here  also  in  immense  quantities,  and  one 
sees  occasionally  trees  that  have  perished  from  its  embrace,  But  this  appears  to  he  diiiv 
when  the  tree  from  some  other  cause  had  received  a  shock  to  its  vitality.  Healtliv  iiee^ 
do  not  suffer  from  the  clasp  of  the  parasite,  and  one  observes  continually  oaks  whose 
lower  trunks  are  one  mass  of  mistletoe,  without  any  injury  or  loss  of  strength. 

Beyond  Pilot  Knob  the  inniiigrant-trail  crosses  the  Rogue  River,  a  be.utiful  stream, 
full  of  salmon,  but  the  country  here  is  infested  with  quarrelsome  Indians,  who  are  con- 
tinually committing  depreJations  on  the  settlers  and  upon  travellers.  One  of  the  braiiche* 
of  the  Rogue  River  is  ominously  n  imed  Grave  Creek,  from  the  number  of  people  kiHed 
by  Indians  and  buried  on  its  banks.  Having  crossed  this  pleasant  stream,  the  ih.kI 
enters  the  Umpqua  Mountains,  and  is  soon  involved  in  the  terrors  and  the  gloom  of 
the  Umpqua  Caflcju.  This  is  a  pass  through  the  mountains,  eleven  miles  in  length,  uitli 
sides  twenty-five  hundred  feet  in  height.  So  high  are  these  tremendous  walls  that  it  i^ 
with  ditFicultv  one  can  discern  the  blue  sky.  The  wagons  go  along  at  the  base  like 
tiny  insects,  and  the  mules  seem  to  be  sensitive  to  the  melancholy  charaeur  of  the  pLiee. 
The  road  is  corduroyed  in  a  very  detestable  fashion,  and  the  poor  beasts  keep  slip|iinii 
all  the  way.  Listen  attentively,  and  you  will  hear  a  feeble  trickling  below  the  mid, 
which,  the  walls  rei'choing,  swell  into  a  low  murmur.  This  is  the  I'mpqua  Rivei,  a 
narrow  thread   of  water,  which,  in   the  suinmer  and   the  fall,  hides  itself  under  the  v  uc- 


great  mass  of 
rest.  The  Sis- 
;  knob  is  alumt 
tion,  and  ni;inv 
Siskiyou  Moun- 
;  aspect  ol  the 
i\\  through  this 
f)  that  the  earth 
id-slides,  leaving 
aso   of  the   hills 

to  increase  the 
pines  are  larger. 
rn   climates,  and 

increasing,  until 
gh  these  valleys, 
;  beauty  of  tlieir 
region,  that  lluv 
rmits  the  fullest 
^  highest  beauty. 
Jied  the  oaks  ol 
lantities,  and  one 
ipears  to  be  niiiv 
y.  Healthy  tire^ 
ually  oaks  whose 

rengt  h. 

be.utiful  stream, 
ns,  who  are  eun- 
e  of  the  brain  he- 
r  of  people  ki'eil 

stream,  the  mail 
ml  the  gloiiin  el 

•s  in  length,  with 
IS  walls  that   it  i'" 

at  the  base  like 
icier  of  the  place. 
ists  keep  slipj'inu 
;  below  the  I'lad, 
I  iniHiua  River,  a 
f  under  the  \>t;i'- 


428 


PICTURESQUE    AMERICA. 


tation  of  the  pass  and  steals  away  unknown  and  unnoticed.  But,  in  the  winter  and 
spring,  it  is  a  different  stream  altogetlier.  Then,  flushed  with  rains  and  with  mcltini; 
snows  and  ice,  it  becomes  a  daiifjcrous  toiTcnt,  occupying  the  whole  width  of  the  canon, 
and  sweeping  away  every  thing  that  obstructs  its  course.  Many  a  tale  is  told  by  sittltrs 
of  immigrant-parties  who  have  met  death  in  this  canon  from  tlic  furious  waters  of  the 
Umpqua.  Sometimes,  in  the  late  spring,  it  has  been  simply  a  tiiread  of  silver  water, 
fed  by  incessant  percolations  from  the  overlianging  walls.  \  rain-storm,  bursting  on  the 
mountain-tops  miles  away,  will  swell  it  to  an  immense  volume  of  water;  and  suddenly 
as  the  wearied  teams  of  the  immigrants  plod  patient';-  on,  and  the  poor  strangers  look 
in  terror  at  the  brown  prison-walls  that  hem  them  in,  they  see,  at  a  turn  of  the  mad. 
the  river  foaming  with  furious  rage,  and  sweeping  down  upon  them,  intent  on  tlieir 
destruction.  Then  risi  ipon  the  stifling  canon-air  the  wild  shrieks  of  women,  the  licrce 
oaths  of  men,  and  the  hoarse  baying  of  hounds.  Swept  down  by  the  irresistible  force 
of  the  water — battered  against  the  rocks  and  bowlders  in  the  path— swept  and  crushed 
against  its  walls — the  bodies  float  unresistingly  here  and  there,  until  the  waters,  sul)sidin}; 
as  rai)idly  as  thcv  bad  risen,  leave  a  few  whitening  bones  to  tell  the  story  of  their  fate 
to  the  ne.xt  travellers  through  tiie  ill-omened  pass.  Nor  is  tliis  all.  To  these  liorror^ 
must  be  ailded  the  ambuscuies  of  the  l^ogue  Indians,  who,  tracking  a  doomed  caravan, 
will  send  parties  into  the  cafion  before  them,  and  will  follow  after  with  others.  Tiun,  in 
some  spot  made  terril)le  by  graves  ornamented  with  little  wooden  crosses,  they  will  fall 
upon  the  wagoners,  seal])  them,  and  spoil  their  goods,  bearing  the  women  and  the  thil- 
dren  away  as  captives.  The  sight  of  the  settlement  of  Rosei)urg  is  one  of  tiie  |)K  isani- 
est  that  can  be  imagimd  to  the  travellers  emerging  from  the  cafion. 

And  here  the  troubles  of  the  journey  may  In-  said  to  cease,  ami  the  beauties  of  tlu 
scenery  can  be  atlmired  with  a  full  heart,  witho'it  any  terror  of  Indians  or  fear  of  dan- 
gerous rivers.  The  traveller  is  now  in  Oregon,  and  in  the  valley  between  the  Coast 
Range  of  mountains  on  the  west  and  tiu'  Cascade  Range  on  (he  east.  Striking  tlu 
forks  of  the  Mackenzie  River  near  liugcne  City,  the  snow-clad  summits  of  the  Three 
Sisters  loom  up  into  tlie  ])leas;uit  air.  They  rise  fiom  a  rant-e  of  volcanic  hills,  of  mod- 
erate height,  to  a  considerable  elevation,  being  cappeu  xvilh  jierpetual  snows.  Tiuv  are 
nearly  e(|ual  in  size,  and  all  have  an  e.saet  pyrai^iidal  form,  as  seen  from  the  road.  Tin 
Mackenzie  River  flows  along  the  edgi-  of  the  plain;  and,  from  the  eastern  side,  Idiili^ 
of  basalt  rise  perpendicularly  to  a  great  luiglil.  I'mm  the  peculiar  form  of  bas.in,  iIhh 
rocks  look  like  cyelopean  masonry,  l,eing  divided  into  huge  blocks,  with  wonderful  c  \,iii- 
itude.  The  prevailing  color  is  a  dark,  deep  brown,  varied  by  yellow.  The  summii-  ol 
these  bluffs  spread  out  into  a  fair  table-land,  reaching,  by  a  fme,  gradual  ascent,  to  ihi 
i)ase  of  the  mountain-range.  These  plains  are  covered  with  a  thick,  juicy  herbage,  iiuiiii 
relished  by  the  Indians'  ponies,  which  feed  lure  in  great  numbers.  The  tents  of  I  heir 
masters  are  a  conspicuous  feature  in  the  landscape.     The  sides  of  the  Three  Sisters  arc 


the  winter  and 
id  with  melting 
th  ot  the  canon, 

told  by  settlcR 
IS  waters  of  tiie 

of  silver  water, 

burstiiifj  oil  the 
■;  and  siuldcnlv 
r  stranfrers  look 
irn   of  the    load, 

intent  on  their 
'omen,  the  lierce 

irresistible  force 
ept  and  crushed 
waters,  subsiding 
cry  of  their  fate 
fo  these  horrors 
doomed  caravan, 
jthcrs.  'riicn,  in 
;es,  they  will  fall 
en   and  the  ehil- 

of   the  pkMsanl- 

beautics  of  the 

or  fear  of  dan- 
ween  the  Coast 
t.  Striking;  the 
its  of  the  Three 
lie  hills,  of  mod- 
lows.     'I'liev  are 

I  he  road,  flu 
stern    side,  Idiili- 

of  basaii.  ihcM 
wonderful  i  \,ici- 
riie  suinmli^  III 
d  ascent,  to  iIk 
V  herbajfe,  iiuith 
e  tents  of  llieir 
I  hrec  Sisters  are 


bUUTHERN     alDB     UK     WILUAMETTK     FALI.3 


H    ' 


430 


PICTURESQUE  AMERICA. 


ill 


finely  zoned  with  a  broad  belt  of  forest,  which  mounts  to  an  altitude  of  six  thou  ind 
feet.  Great  sugar-pines  and  silver-firs  rise  high  above  the  other  trees,  and  mass  Uicir 
dark-green  foliage  against  the  mountain -sides.  Above  these  are  broad  fields  of  lair, 
untrodden  snow.  The  angles  of  the  Sisters  are  less  acute  than  those  of  other  snow- 
mountains  in  this  region,  and  consequently  there  aie  fewer  slides,  and  the  peaks  are 
always  covered  with  the  glistening  folds.  Very  pure  and  virginal  is  the  effect  of  these 
cones  of  clear  white,  unbroken  by  any  sharp  edges  of  volcanic  tufas  rising  majestically 
from  the  lines  of  serried  trees  below.  The  clouds  rest  continually  upon  the  piaks, 
adding  their  contributions  of  vapor,  to  be  turned  into  tiny  snow-flakes ;  and  of  morniiifrs, 
ofttimes,  the  haze  wraps  them  round  'n  mazy  folds,  producing  vague,  fantastic  imajres. 
Also,  when  there  are  rain-storms  in  the  air,  and  clouds  of  heavy  vapor  ride  thiough 
the  upper  world,  they  are  attracted  by  the  bold  outlines  of  the  peaks,  and,  settlint,^  on 
them,  are  changed  into  varied  forms ;  sometimes  appearing  like  a  knight's  helmet,  with 
crest  and  feather  backward  streaming  from  the  shock  of  tourney;  sometimes  wreatiiing 
and  twisting  like  volumes  of  smoke  from  a  great  conflagration ;  sometimes  pushing  out 
circular  cloudlets,  like  the  bubbles  of  a  mill-race.  The  Indians  believe  that  these  three 
peaks  were  three  female  giants,  who  had  been  wives  of  Manitou,  and,  having  rebelled 
against  him,  were  turned  into  stone.  The  banks  of  the  Mackenzie  have  often  furnisiicd 
themes  for  the  admiration  of  the  poet,  and  fertile  subjects  for  the  pencil  of  the  artist. 
The  great  columnar  masses  of  l)asalt — suggestive  of  tiic  glories  of  StafHi  and  lona— 
come  sheer  down  to  the  water's  edge,  and  the  brown  and  yellow  colors  are  reflected  on 
the  surface  of  the  stream.  Indians,  regardless  of  Nature's  beauties,  are  intent  on  spear.iis; 
salmon;  while  the  Indian  boys,  with  bows  and  arrows,  hover  about  for  a  shot  at  the 
enormous  hares  which  abound  here,  and  feed  on  the  juicy  herbage  of  the  high  Kvel 
and  on  the  shoots  of  the  manzanita--a  tree  whirh  something  resembles  the  laurel.  The 
sugar-maple  makes  its  appearance  here  in  considerable  quantities ;  and  the  silver-fir  dis- 
plays its  cones  of  grayish  green.  These  stand  I'o  in  the  form  of  a  cup,  and  have,  per- 
chance, been  used  a:;  such  by  the  gambolling  squirrels.  On  the  plains  level  witli  the 
river  the  grass  is  coarse  ami  rank,  and  the  soil  apjiears  in  patches  of  bare  sand.  The 
rt)ck  crojjs  up,  also,  in  bowlder-like  forms,  which,  combined  with  the  poor  grass,  gives  a 
barren,  hungry  appearance  to  the  country.  This,  however,  is  not  a  true  indication,  lor 
the  hand  of  industry  is  rcAirded  plenteously  for  its  efforts.  Apples  grow  abundaiillv 
wherever  orciiards  are  planted;  and  it  is  said  to  be  simply  the  finest  country  in  lh( 
world  for  wheat.  It  is  upon  the  line  of  the  proposed  railroad,  and  in  a  few  years  llie 
Three  Sisters  will  give  back  from  their  white  walls  shrill  echoes  of  the  steam-engim 's 
scream. 

Not  far  fiom  them,  in  the  same  range,  rises  the  Willamette  River,  on  which  Poit- 
land,  the  chief  city  of  the  State,  is  situated.  The  falls  of  this  stream  are  justly  c(K- 
brated  for  their  beauty.     The  river,  which  is  generally  about  a  mile  wide,  narrows  sud 


NORTHERN    CALIFORNIA. 


431 


deiiK  near  Oregon  City,  as  if  preparing  for  its  tremendous  leap.  The  rocks  on  each 
side  are  of  frowning  basalt,  of  a  deep  black,  rendered  more  intense  by  the  foaming 
waters.  By  the  action  of  the  stream— the  current  being  strongest  in  the  centre — the 
fulls  liave  been  worn  into  a  horseshoe  form,  the  two  sides  being  so  close  that  one  can 
throw  a  stone  to  the  other  shore.  The  water,  rushing  with  a  very  swift  current,  precipi- 
tates itself  down  a  sheer  fall  of  seventy  feet,  rising,  in  smoke-like  mist,  from  the  mys- 
terious depths  below,  where  it  issues  in  great  swaths  of  turbid  water,  streaked  with 
frrcin,  and  curved  like  glass,  jostling  with  the  bowlders  of  basalt,  and  roaring  in  rage  at 
the  contest.  The  river  has  not  very  much  water  at  any  time;  and  the  steamers  on  it 
aiv  ail  of  the  stern-wheel  order,  which  captains  declare  can  be  made  to  iloat  on  a  heavy 
dew!  Hence,  most  of  the  splendor  of  the  falls  is  lost  by  reason  of  the  great  basalt 
clitls,  showing  too  plainly  amid  the  boiling  waters.  The  rocks  in  themselves  are  grand ; 
the  fall  is  prodigious;  but  it  is  seldom  that  there  is  water  enough  to  get  a  really  fine 
elfcct.  From  this  cause  travellers,  who  survey  the  falls  in  comfort  from  their  hotel-win- 
dows in  Oregon  City,  art  very  often  disappointed,  and  apt  to  accuse  t!'e  Oregonians  of 
taking  geese  for  swans.  But  those  who  wish  to  see  the  falls  in  their  most  glorious 
aspect,  will  do  well  to  descend  the  river,  and  gaze  upward  from  the  south.  Then,  when 
below  the  falls,  the  tremendous  proportions  of  the  scenery  forcibly  impress  the  mind. 
The  huge  walls  of  basalt,  built  up  in  enormous  blocks  of  masonry,  quarried  by  Nature's 
own  subtle  and  strong  hand,  excite  the  liveliest  feelings  of  admiration.  The  two  sides 
a|)proach  like  giants  determined  to  stay  the  progress  of  this  turnulent  Willamette,  and 
ilrive  him  back  to  his  sources  in  the  far-off  Cascade  Range.  The  river,  on  the  other 
hand,  foreseeing  the  opposition  of  his  rocky  foes,  draws  all  his  Wuter  to  the  centre,  and, 
contracting  his  Hanks,  makes  one  tremendous  charge,  and  bursts  his  way  through  the 
ojijiosing  walls.  Down,  down,  into  the  sheer  depths  below,  where  all  is  foam  and  mist 
and  noise  and  mystery,  plunges  the  river  in  great  curves,  that  hurl  themselves  boldly  into 
the  air  like  so  many  Curtii  plunging  into  the  gulf.  Masses  of  the  basalt,  broken  and 
thiown  down,  show  their  black  heads  ftrbly  in  the  centre  through  !he  rush  of  waters. 
I5iit  on  one  flank  the  wily  enemy  has  gained  a  temporary  ailvantage,  and  a  great  stream 
has  been  separated  from  the  main  llojd.  \'et  to  no  end,  f-..r  thii  divided  portion  jne- 
cipitates  itself  in  a  fiercer,  braver  curve  than  the  others,  and  joins  its  friends  at  the  bottom 
ol  I  he  maelstrom,  amid  a  hoarse,  congratulatory  murmur,  which  mingles  with  the  roar 
ot  llie  combat.  There  is  not  so  much  mist  as  in  some  less  grand  cataracts,  but  there  is 
though  to  hide  the  fortunes  of  the  fallen  river,  and  the  confusions  of  its  lines,  as  they 
licit  against  the  masses  of  rock  which  they  have  detached  through  long  successions  of 
liiroic  charging.  A  poet  might  discern,  in  'he  midst  of  the  steaming  vajjor,  forms  of 
lair  Naiads  and  grotescpie  Nixes  and  Pi.xies;  but  the  practic  algray  orbs  of  the  Oregoni- 
ans sec  only  an  unpleasant  necessity  for  a  portage,  and  for  another  steamer  to  Portl\nd, 
twelve  miles  from  the  junction  of  this  river  with  the  grand  Columbia. 


Mii 


NIAGAKA.'^? 

\\l  111 
ILLUSTRATIONS    IIV    1IARK\     I'ExWN. 

XT  lACiARA!      Who   has   not 

-*-  ^  heard  of  tliis  jjccrlcss  cat- 
aract, wliicli  is  ainonjr  water-falls  what  the 
Himalayas  arc  amonjr  mountain -ranges,  not 
only  the  jrrandest,  but  so  afreatly  preeminent 
as  to  [)e  without  rivalry  ?  Every  fresh  discov- 
erer ol  African  cataracts  does,  indeed,  gravely  inform 
tlie  public  that  the  falls  of  the  Makololo,  or  the  Cham- 


NIAGARA. 


433 


The  Brink  of  iht    I'orscshoe. 


lii/i,  or  the  Wajjo^o,  arc,  in  his  opinion,  not  inferior  to  the  far-famed  Niagara.  But  this 
is  simply  an  ebullition  of  entimsiasm,  due  io  personal  feeling,  and  the  indulgent  reader 
regards  with  a  smile  a  statement  which  it  is  alike  impossible  to  verify  or  to  controvert. 
I  lie  essential  (juality  of  Niagara  is  its  sublimity.  Otlier  falls  are  dashed  from  more  stu- 
pindous  heights,  and  lost  amid  chasms  of  rocks  of  wilder  and  more  savage  formation. 
lUii  none  of  them  even  approach  this  cataract  in  that  fust  essential  of  magnificence. 
N'm  can  we  be  surprised  at  this  when  we  consider  that  over  the  ledge  of  limesto-ie  at 
lliis  point  the  accumulated  waters  of  four  vast  inland  seas  hurl  themselves  madly  on 
tliiir  wav  to  tlu'  ocean,  and  that,  during  the  last  half-mile  before  the  wild  descent,  tiiere 
is  A  decline  so  great  as  to  produce  the  most  superb  rapids.  The  territory  that  these 
lakes  drain  is  equal  to  that  of  the  entire  Continent  of  liurope,  many  of  the  streams  that 
I'lil    Lake    Superior  being  fullv  two  thousand  miles  away.      Hence  the  volume  of  water 

55 


434 


PICTURESQUE    AMERICA. 


precipitated  is  so  enormous  as  to  produce  the  most  majestic  effects,  and  it  may  well  be 
doubted  if  Niagara  would  gain  much  by  an  increase  in  the  height  of  the  fall.  At  pres- 
ent the  height  is,  on  the  American  side,  one  hundred  and  lifty-four  feet,  and,  on  the  Ca- 
nadian, one  hundred  and  forty-five  feet.  The  reader  can  without  difficulty  recall  to  his 
mind    many  water-falls  whose    height  exceeds  this;   but  it  often  happens  that  the  volume 


Barnett's  Stan,   under    lublc  Kock. 


of  water  over  such  descents  is  very  small,  as  is  notably  the  case  with  the  Bridal-veil 
Fall  in  the  Yosemitc  Valley.  That,  however,  has  advantages  of  the  most  striking  char- 
acter in  its  surroundings  Niagara  has  nothing.  .All  that  it  boasts  of  the  sublime  ami 
the  beautiful  is  contained  within  the  rock-walls  of  its  stupendous  chasm.  All  its 
approaches  are  plain,  dull,  and  tedious.  The  country  around  is  almost  absolutely  flat, 
divided    into    fields    that   wave    pleasantly   with    bearded   grain,   and   dotted   with   white- 


NIAGARA. 


435 


it  may  well  be 
:  fall.  At  i)rcs- 
and,  on  the  Ca- 
Ity  recall  to  liis 
that  the  volume 


painted  wooden  houses,  u<;ly  churches,  homely  factories,  and  mills.  There  are  no  for- 
ests, and  but  few  fine  trees;  and  these  are  confined  to  the  verge  of  the  chasm,  and 
have  l)een  planted  there  by  people  who  mourned  the  poverty  of  the  surroundings  of  the 
great  fall,  and  desired  to  add  something  to  the  immediate  effect.  The  villages  that  now 
crowd  about  its  vicinity  have  no  recommendations  on  the  score  of  fine  taste ;  and,  though 


Harnett's  Stair,  in  Winter. 


the  Bridal-veil 
St  striking  char- 
the  sublime  ami 
:hasm.      All    its 

absolutely  ll;it, 
:ed   with   while- 


the  numbers  that  resort  hither  from  every  land  have  made  large  hotels  necessary,  it  has 
iK  ver  been  thought  worth  while  to  surround  them  with  gardens,  or  to  do  aught  that  should 
remove  the  utilitarian  look  of  the  ])lace.  Niagara,  it  must  be  confessed,  resembles  a  su- 
perb diamond  set  in  lead.  The  stone  is  perfect,  but  the  setting  is  lamentably  vile  and  des- 
titute of  beauty.  And,  even  in  the  chasm  to  which  its  glories  are  confined,  there  is  but 
liiile  loveliness  or  majesty  in  the  configuration  of  the   rocks,  though    they  arc  deeply  in- 


%  i 


436 


PICTURESQUE   AMERICA. 


Wim 


If 


tercsting  because  the  river  has  laid  them  hare  from  top  to  bottom,  and  exhibits  tlicir 
stratification  as  clearly  as  a  freolofric  cii.irt.  First  we  find  Xiajijara  limestone,  comi)iict, 
harti,  and  full  of  {jcodes ;  next  to  this  comes  a  soft,  crumblinfr  shale,  argillo-calcarcous 
in  character;  next  comes  a  hard,  gray  limestone;  then  thin  layers  of  greenish  shale; 
then  mottled  sandstone ;  then  layers  of  reddish  shale  and  marl ;  then  red,  quartzose 
sandstone ;  and,  lastly,  red,  shaly  sandstone,  intermixed  with  marl.  And  not  only  does 
Nature  thus  disclose  the  composition  of  the  ground,  but  she  enables  us  to  see  the  work 
which  has  been  done  by  the  turbulent  waters.  We  realize  at  once  that  two  great  feats 
have  been  performed  through  their  agency — one  the  cutting  of  a  channel  from  the  head  of 
Lake  Erie  to  Lake  Ontario,  the  other  the  retrogression  of  the  falls  from  Lewiston  to  their 
present  position.  The  method  of  operation  of  the  former  must  be  left  to  the  opinions 
of  geologists ;  but  the  latter  is  before  our  very  eyes,  and  we  cannot  fiiil  to  comprehend 
it.  There  is  no  foct  more  undoubted  than  the  first  location  of  the  falls  at  Lewiston,  .uid 
of  their  gradual  retirement  by  the  eating  away,  year  by  year,  of  the  rocky  ledge  over 
which  the  waters  hurl  their  strength.  The  shale  is  so  much  softer  than  the  other  rocks, 
between  whose  strata  it  lies,  that  it  is  scooped  out  by  the  infiuences  of  moisture  and 
frost  ivith  comparative  ease.  The  result  is,  that  the  slabs  of  limestone  and  the  masses 
of  sandstone  have,  at  length,  their  supports  withdrawn  from  them,  and  are  toppled  down. 
The  rate  at  which  this  work  goes  on  varies  considerably,  according  to  the  volume  of  the 
Niagara  River  and  the  severity  of  the  winter's  frost ;  but  the  average  is  considered,  by 
scientific  men,  to  be  about  one  foot  per  annum.  Those  romantic  persons,  therefore,  who 
have  felt  grieved  at  the  inevitable  fate  of  the  cataract,  may  be  comforted  by  the  reflec- 
tion that  it  required  a  period  of  thirty-six  thousand  nine  hundred  and  sixty  years  to 
bring  the  falls  from  Lewiston  to  their  present  position  ;  and  it  will  take  a  much  longer 
period  to  remove  them  back  to  the  head  of  Lake  Erie.  Aiid  it  is  some  comfort  to 
reflect  that,  as  nothing  save  a  shifting  of  the  poles  or  a  sinking  of  I-ake  Erie  cnn 
change  the  relative  position  of  its  bed  to  Lake  Ontario,  the  falls  must  always  be  some- 
where between  the  two.  Also,  in  receding,  the  falls  will  gain  considerably  in  height,  as 
the  slope  of  the  rapids  will  then  be  added  to  the  present  tall.  It  is  within  the  range  of 
possibility  that,  when  the  cataract  shall  reach  the  source  of  the  river,  a  new  one  may 
be  formed  at  any  point  along  its  course.  It  is  the  opinion  of  Professor  Agassiz  that  at 
one  time  there  were  three  distinct  water-falls  in  the  thirty-four  miles  of  the  Niagaia 
River.  There  is  a  cause  which  might  produce  another  one.  It  has  been  suspected,  on 
a  comparison  between  the  volume  of  water  at  the  falls  and  that  which  is  poured  into 
Lake  Ontario,  that  at  least  one-half  of  the  accumulation  of  the  upper  lakes  finds  its 
way  into  Ontario  by  a  subterranean  channel.  The  Niagara,  below  the  falls,  has  a  nuan 
depth  of  one  hundred  feet ;  below  this,  the  bed  of  the  river  is  filled  up,  for  another 
hundred  feet,  with  blocks  of  sandstone  and  slabs  of  limestone  of  enormous  size,  which 
have    been   detached    from    the    rocks,  and  have  sunk  to  the  bottom.     Those  which    have 


d  exhibits  their 

stone,  compact, 

ifrillo-calcaicous 

greenish    shalu; 

red,   quart  zose 

not   only  does 

to  see  the  worl: 

two  great  icats 

oni  the  head  of 

ewiston  to  tlieir 

to  the  opinions 

to  comprelicnd 

It  Lewiston,  and 

ocky  ledge  over 

the  other  roci^s, 

if  moisture   and 

and   the    masses 

;  toppled  down, 

i  volume  of  the 

;   considered,  by 

;,  therefore,  who 

d  by  the  rellec- 

sixty  years  to 

a  much  longer 

•me   comfort   to 

Lake    Erie   can 

dways  be  some- 

)ly  in  heigiit,  as 

in  the  range  of 

1   new  one  may 

Agassiz  that  at 

of  the    Niagara 

n  suspected,  on 

is    poured   into 

lakes   finds   its 

lis,  has  a  mean 

up,  for   another 

lous  size,  which 

3se  which    have 


m 


UNDER     THE     FALLS,     CANADA     SIDE- 


438 


PICTURESQUE    AMERICA. 


been  broken  down  by  ice  arc,  of  course,  ground  to  powder  in  the  ice-gorges ;  but  tlusc 
form  only  a  small  part  of  the  masses  which  are  detached  every  year.  The  retrogression 
of  the  falls  will  necessarily  make  considerable  changes  in  the  channel,  and  thus  will  afllct 
the  subterranean  river  very  materially,  even  to  the  extent  of  choking  up  its  entrance. 
Then  the  rocky  masses  which  form  the  false  bed  will  begin  to  shift,  and  will  be  carried 
down  to  Ontario,  producing  such  inequalities  in  the  depth  of  the  Niagara  bed  as  may 
well  cause  another  fall.  These,  however,  are  mere  speculations,  floating  scum-like  over 
the  sea  of  science ;  but  the  retrogression  of  the  falls  is  undoubted.  The  residents  of 
the  place  have  grappled  this  fact,  however  much  they  may  disdain  abstract  science,  and, 
knowing  that  the  day  must  come  when  all  their  hotels  and  buildings,  all  their  stairways, 
and  their  bridges  and  apparatus,  will  be  useless,  have  determined  to  make  hay  while  the 
sun  shines.  They  unfortunately,  while  they  appreciate  the  fact,  seem  to  ignore  the  time 
during  which  these  sad  changes  will  be  brought  about ;  and  they  are  as  rapacious  as  if 
every  present  year  was  going  to  be  the  very  last  of  Niagara,  and  had  to  be  paid  for 
accordingly.  In  no  quarter  of  the  world  is  the  traveller  fleeced  as  at  these  falls ;  lie 
cannot  take  a  single  glance  at  any  object  of  interest  without  having  to  pay  dearly  for 
it.  Still  there  are  few  people  who  can  afford  to  visit  the  place  who  do  not  go  there; 
for  man's  impertinence  and  rapacity,  though  they  poison  the  pleasure,  cannot  rob  tlie 
scene  of  its  awful  sublimity. 

The  first  discoverer  of  Niagara  Falls  quickly  perceived  that  Table  Rock,  on  the 
Canada  side,  was  the  best  point  of  view  for  the  ordinary  spectator,  though  for  the  artist 
there  are  several  other  spots  which  bring  into  prominence  various  interesting  features.  It 
is  so  still,  even  after  the  fall  of  Table  Rock  itself,  all  that  remains  of  that  famous  slali 
of  limestone  being  a  mere  shelving  rock.  Here  a  rustic  seat  is  arranged  for  the  accom- 
modation of  visitors,  who  from  this  poinf:  can  take  in  at  one  glance  the  whole  of  the 
falls.  Immediately  in  front  of  them  is  the  Horseshoe  Fall,  where,  from  the  extreme 
depth  of  the  channel,  the  water  has  a  deep-emerald  tinge  of  exquisite  beauty.  Next 
to  it  come  shelving  down  the  shores  of  Goat  Island,  with  which,  by  bridges  of  frail 
aspect,  on  t'  right  hand,  is  connected  Terrapin  Tower,  and,  on  the  left  hand,  Luna 
Island.  I5c;ui,en  Goat  Island  and  Luna  is  a  small  fall,  sometimes  called  Schlosscr's. 
Beyond  Luru  Island  stretches  the  American  Fall.  The  whole  width  of  the  river  here  is 
four  thousand  five  hundred  feet,  of  which  the  American  Fall  occupies  eleven  hundred 
feet.  Goat  and  Luna  Islands  fourteen  hundred,  and  the  remaining  two  thousand  feet  lie- 
long  to  the  Horseshoe  Fall.  But  it  must  be  remembered  that  this  measurement  is  from 
point  to  point;  for,  in  reality,  the  curvilinear  shape  of  the  Horseshoe  has  a  much  more 
extensive  line,  probably  double  as  much.  These  details  one  learns  afterward,  the  first 
gaze  of  the  visitor  being  too  productive  of  the  stupefliction  of  extreme  awe  to  allow 
him  to  notice  individual  details.  One  sees  the  extraordinary  volume  of  water,  and  its 
deep,  rich  color ;  one  sees  the  clouds  of  smoke-like  spray  rising  at  the  base ;   one  hears 


NIAGARA. 


439 


the  roar  of  the  cataract;  and  that  is  all.  At  the  time  being,  noliody  can  estimate  what 
is  seen.  The  mind  is  stunned,  and  what  the  eye  sees  produces  no  effect  upon  the  ima- 
irjiiation.  Afterward,  when  the  mental  powers  have  recovered  their  elasticity,  the  faculties 
of  ol)servation  and  of  perception  emerge  from  their  lethargy,  and  act  upon  the  discoveries 
of  the  eye.      This   peculiar   condition   of  mind  somewhat   resembles   the   stunning   effect 

of  great  grief  caused  by  misfortune  on  the 
death  of  some  one  very  dear  indeed,  when 
the  mind  cannot  appreciate  the  loss,  and  in- 
sists upon  busying  itself  with  external  trifles. 
The  bereaved  husband  repeats  to  himself  that 
his  wife  is  dead,  K,  ^\^^  mind 
,   -     •  refuses    to    act    upoi.    tne    in- 

-  "'-r-v  formation,  and  concerns  itself 

with  the  petals  of 
a  rose,  or  the  buzz- 


in<;  of  a   bee   in 


a  tuft  of  clover, 
or    the    vagaries 
of   a    bird    hop- 
ping from  spray  to  spray.      So  it 
is  with    Niagara.      Sit  as  long  as 
you  will    on   the   scanty  remnant 
of  Table  Rock,  or  as  long  as  the 
photographers,  the    Indian-curiosity   people,  or  the 
owners    of    side-shows   in   the    neighborhood,   will 
permit  you,  and,  after  all,  you  have  not  seized  the 

idea  of  Niagara,  and  you  will  not  be  able  for  some  time.  I^est  i,  it,  therefore,  to  glance 
from  Table  Rock  last  of  all,  and  to  examine  first  the  details  which  the  enterprise  of  in- 
dividuals has  placed  within  our  power  to  study  and  observe.  The  great  feat,  of  course, 
is  to  descend  the  stairs  underneath  the  Table  Rock  from  Barnett's,  and  to  penetrate 
under  the  Horseshoe  Falls  as  far  as  one's  courage  will  permit.  For  this  purpose  we 
have  to  procure  oil-skin  suits,  and  caps  like  those  worn  in  former  times  by  coal-heavers, 


Stairway  at  Whirlpool. 


o 


¥ 


440 


PICTURESQUE    AMERICA. 


and  known  as  fantails  The  feet  have  also  to  be  encased  in  India-rubber  shoes,  and,  if 
the  descent  is  made  in  winter,  iron  spurs  are  fastened  underneath,  so  as  to  give  us  a 
firm  footinjT  on  the  ice  and  snow.  The  wooden  stairways  are  narrow  and  steep,  Imt 
perfectly  safe;  and  a  couple  of  minutes  brings  us  to  the  bottom.  Mere  we  are  in  spray- 
land,  indeed;  for  we  have  hardly  begun  to  traverse  the  pathway  of  broken  bits  of  shak- 
when,  with  a  mischievous  swoop,  the  wind  sends  a  baby  cataract  in  our  direction,  and 
fairly  inundates  us.  The  mysterious  gloom,  with  the  thundering  noises  of  the  falliii|T 
waters,  impresses  every  one ;  but,  as  the  pathway  is  broad,  and  the  walking  easy,  nuw- 
comers  are  apt  to  tliink  that  there  is  nothing  in  it.  The  tall,  stalwart  negro  who  acts 
as  guide  listens  with  amusement  to  such  comments,  and  confidently  awaits  a  change  in 
the  tone  of  the  scoffers.  More  and  more  arched  do  the  rocks  become  as  we  proceed. 
The  top  part  is  of  hard  limestone,  and  the  lower  part  of  shale,  which  has  been  so  hal- 
tered away  by  the  fury  of  the  waters  that  there  is  an  arched  passage  behind  the  entire 
Horseshoe  Fall,  which  can  easily  be  traversed,  if  the  currents  of  air  would  let  us  pass. 
But,  as  we  proceed,  we  begin  to  notice  that  it  blows  a  trifle,  and  from  every  one  of 
the  thirty-two  points  of  the  compass.  At  first,  however,  we  get  them  sepaiately.  A 
gust  at  a  tiiTie  inundates  us  with  sproy  ;  but,  the  farther  we  march,  the  more  unruly  is 
the  Prince  of  Air.  First,  like  single  spies,  come  his  winds ;  but  soon  tliey  advance  liku 
skirmisiiers ;  and  at  last,  w!ien  a  column  of  thin  water  falls  across  the  path,  they  oppose 
a  solid  phalan.x  to  our  efforts.  It  is  a  point  of  honor  to  see  who  can  go  the  farthest 
through  these  corridors  of  /liolus,  where,  in  the  lines  o{  \'irgil — 


"  Una  Eurusque  Notusque  ruunt,  creberque  procellis 
Africus." 

It  is  on  record  that  a  man,  with  an  herculean  effort,  once  burst  through  the  column 
of  water,  but  was  immediatelv  thrown  to  the  ground,  and  oidy  rejoined  bis  comrades  by 
crawling  face  downward,  and  digging  his  hands  into  the  loose  shale  ol  tlie  pathwav. 
I'rofesst)r  ryiulall  has  gone  as  far  as  mortal  man,  and  he  (lescrii)es  the  buffeting  of  ilie 
air  as  indescribable,  the  effect  being  like  actual  i)lows  with  tiie  fist. 

As  wc  return  along  the  narrow  jiatli,  we  have  leisure  tt)  examine  the  rock-wall,  and 
to  discirn  in  it  masses  of  white  sulphur,  mixed  with  JimcJlone-lumps  lying  among  ilie 
shale.  We  tind  also  masses  of  jiure,  white  quartz,  sparkling  like  sugar,  an'i  pieces  of  mK- 
nite,  or  cryst.iiii/rd  gypsum,  which  has  a  faint  resemblance  to  a^iuslns,  bui  is  Ir.m^hiuni. 
There  are  ferns  growing  in  patches  here  and  there,  and  a  kind  of  watei-cnss,  whitii,  ilu 
negro  says,  is  good  to  .at,  but  there  is  so  little  of  it  that  it  woidd  take  months  ((>  (ullcd 
a  dish.  Of  moss— long,  fine,  green  moss — there  is  an  abundance,  and  it  ^rows  so  delieiirh 
that  it  forces  sercarns  of  admiration  and  thrills  of  delight  from  the  .adies  of  our  pntv. 
When  w  iiinount  the  stairs,  and  find  ourselves  0111c  more  on  ;he  upper  earth,  wi  h 
divided    in    our    minds   whether   to    turn    and    examine    the    fills,  which   now  begin  (o  i"' 


c 


iber  shoes,  and,  if 
as   to   give   us  a 
w    and   steep,  liut 
e  we  are  in  spray- 
oken  bits  of  slialc 
our  direction,  and 
ses   of  tlie    falliiiiT 
valking  easy,  ncw- 
rt  necro  who  acts 
vaits   a   change  in 
lie  as  \vc   procct'd. 
1   has  been  so  i)at- 
bchind  the  entire 
would  let   us  jjass. 
lom    every  one  of 
em    sepal ately.    A 
lie    more    unruly  is 
they  advance  like 
path,  they  oppose 
;an  go  tlie    farthest 


-!> 


irouixli  tin-  column 
(1  liis  comrades  liv 
ol  I  lie  jiathwav. 
ic   liulfcling  of  tlie 

the  rock-wall,  and 

lying   among  ilu 
an'i  jiieces  of  seK- 

but  is  transhurnt. 
CI -cress,  which,  the 

months  (<>  enllect 
mows  sii  deliealelv 
mIk-,  of  our  paiiv. 

ipcr    tarlh,  we    '< 
1   now  begin  I"  '" 


442 


PICTURESQUE    AMERICA. 


li 


comprehensible,  or  to  doflF  our  dripjiing  over-suit  and  remove  our  drenched  shoes.  Ro- 
mance and  iL'Sthetici.  m  su^jicst  the  former,  but  prudence  thunders  out  that  the  hitter  is 
imperative,  if  we  do  not  wisii  to  catch  a  violent  ca*^arrh  ;   so  prudence  carries  it. 

Tliere  are  two  things  which  can  now  be  done — take  a  glance  at  the  rapids  alni\i 
the  Horseshoe  Falls,  from  the  I'rince  of  ^V'alJs's  Tower,  or  buy  Indian  curiosities.  I'oi 
those  who  are  tired,  the  latter  is  no  bad  way  of  restin[»' ;  but,  for  the  strong-chested, 
strong-lunged  visitors,  the  tower  is  decidedly  preferable.  We  can  walk  comfortably  luiv, 
while  our  friends  are  reposing ;  and  we  find  ourselves  side  by  side  with  a  little  streamlet 
which  comes  from  (he  northward,  and,  though  nameless  and  insignificant,  has  the  honor 
of  falling  into  llie  Niagara  before  it  takes  the  great  plunge,  and  uniting  its  tiny  w.Mirs 
with  the  volume  that  pours  forth  its  might  in  the  tremendous  curve  of  the  cataract. 
We  cross  this  streamlet  by  a  pretty  bridge,  and  linger  for  a  few  moments  to  observe 
the  furious  speed  of  the  tiny  rivulet,  and  how  fully  in  harmony  of  feeling  it  is  with  the 
great  stream  beside  it.  I'p  the  steps  of  the  tower  we  go,  and  the  guide  kindly  informs 
us  that  the  structure  was  [)uilt  in  honor  of  the  visit  of  the  Prince  of  Wales,  and  was 
first  ascended  by  him.  When  we  arrive  at  the  ligh;  :  "se-likc  summit,  "'c  cannot  l)ut 
admit  the  justness  of  thought  of  thi'  gentleman  wlio  erected  it.  The  view  is,  iiidc-d. 
transcendent.  Immeiliately  below  us  is  the  river,  which,  from  the  position  of  the  towei, 
we  are  forced  to  look  up  to  rathi'r  than  across,  so  that  it  appears  like  a  raging,  shorc'ess 
sea.  To  liu-  left  aie  (loal  Island  and  the  Three  Sisters;  midway,  in  the  distance,  tlie 
green  slopes  of  the  diass  Islands;  and,  beyond,  the  wooded  bluffs  of  Navy  I>land  (nm- 
plete  the  view.  The  lapids  extend  from  the  verge  of  the  falls  for  half  a  mile;  and  s(i 
furitnis  is  the  lapiditv  of  the  current  that  the  centre  is  heaped  up  in  a  ridge-like  form, 
and  the  waves  on  every  side  suddiiily  leap  u]i  in  the  air,  like  great  fish,  and  fall  il(Jon 
with  a  >sulleii  sough.  The  wind  come,  sweeping  over  them,  and  drives  their  crests  aK-nn 
the  surface  in  showers  of  spray.  (  nat  logs  and  trees  burdened  with  all  the  glorv  ol 
their  branches,  with  their  greenery  still  untoin,  come  swoopin':  down,  taking  leaps  like 
greyhounds,  and  giving  us  the  idea  of  independent  life  and  ni.v'-  n.  They  terrify  us,  luit 
we  must  follow  them  with  our  eyes.  Here  is  a  great  ht,iir,  '■,  v^  ded  with  age,  .iiul 
with  .HI  ;'bundant  s|)read  of  branches.  How  he  daits  along,  sh<  .  tg  only  portions  ol 
his  length,  like  a  great  biown-and-gicen  sirpeiit  '  lie  nears  us,  he  p.isses  us;  we  luin 
— we  must  do  it  and  we  see  him,  in  an  instant,  :'ioot  with  tremendous  S|)eed  over  tin 
brow  of  Ni.igari.  .\iiotlier  .md  another  still  succeed;  and,  as  wc  gaze,  the  instin<t  nl 
cruelty  arises  in  u-^,  despiti-  ourselves,  and  we  long  to  see  a  bear  or  a  deer  driven  dnan 
the  rapids,  and  disappear  over  the  abyss,  uttering  hoarse  cries  of  fear  and  anguish. 

Coming  back  from  the  rapids,  we  learn,  whin  we  re"  in  our  companions,  who  lii 
loade<l  with  selenitt  ornaments  and  bark  trifles,  curiously  ornanualed  with  coloinl 
glasses,  th.il  the  line^t  r.ipids  are  on  the  .American  side,  and  must  be  viewed  from 
the    bridge    over    from    the    main-land    to    bath    Island.     The    next    point,   however,  on 


NIAGARA. 


443 


[led  shoes.  Ro- 
lat  the  latter  is 
irries  it. 

he    rapids   above 
curiosities.     For 
e   strong-chesltd, 
comfortably  here, 
a  little  streamlet 
It,  has  the  honor 
g  its  tiny  wi'ltrs 
of   the   catar.ict, 
ncnts   to   ohsirw 
ng  it  is  with  the 
,1c  kindly  informs 
f  Wales,  anil  was 
t,  n-e   cannot   but 
le  view  is,  indcd, 
:ion  of  the  tower, 
a  raging,  shorc'css 
the   distance,  tlu' 
\avv   Island  coiii- 
f  a  mile ;   and  Sd 
a  ridge-like   form, 
sh,  and   fall  doon 
tlicir  crests  alon^i 
all    the   glory  iil 
taking   leaps   like 
K-v  terrify  us,  imt 
led  with  age,  .iml 
oidy  portions  ol 
,isses  us;    we  turn 
lis  speed  over  tin 
f,  tiic    instill"  t    III 
deer  driven  iV<\\\\ 
mi  anguish, 
iji.inions,  who  arc 
t((!    willi    coloifd 
lie    viewed   fumi 
i.int,    liowever,   mi 


the  regular  line  of  obser- 
vation is  the  Whirlpool  and 
its  lipids.  These  are  more 
tliaii  a  mile  below  the  falls, 
and  the  best  point  of  ob- 
servation is  from  the  Amer- 
ican side,  and  we  have  again 
to  cross  the  Susjiension 
Bridge,  and  to  pass  the 
lower  bridge,  which  is 
just  I V  considered  one  of 
the  marvels  of  modern  en- 
gineering. It  was  built  in 
iSs5.  and  it  combines  the 
advantages  of  the  tubular 
form  of  construction  and 
the  principle  of  suspension. 
The  carriage-way  is  level 
with  the  banks  of  the  river 
at  the  edges  of  the  chasm, 
and  the  railway- track  is 
placed  above  this,  on  a 
k'vel  with  tlie  tops  of  the 
secondary  banks.  It  is  sup- 
ported i)v  two  large  cables 
on  each  side,  one  pair  above 
the  other,  the  lower  pair 
lieiiiu  nearer  together,  hori- 
zontally, than  the  upper,  so 
that  a  cross-section  of  the 
tulie  would  be  shaped  some- 
what like  the  key-stone  of 
an  arch.  I^ach  of  these 
lar^e  cables  is  ten  inches 
in  diameter,  and  is  com- 
posed of  seven  sinall 
strands,  liach  strand  con- 
tains five  hundred  and 
iweniv   wires.      F.ach    wire 


B 
u 

I 


IS  ■  J 


444 


PICTURESQUE  AMERICA. 


Isn  i 

i  ' 
J 

11  }:■ 


was  lioilcd  for  three  hours  in  linseed-oil,  so  as  to  cover  it  with  an  oleaginous  surface 
of  considerable  adhesive  power.  Each  wire  was  carried  across  the  river  separately,  tVom 
tower  to  tower,  by  a  contrivance  of  the  engineers,  and  then  wound  together,  the  strands 
being  finally  united  into  a  cable.  By  this  method  the  destructive  power  of  the  vibrations 
was  reduced  to  the  lowest  possible  pitch.  Not  far  from  this  bridge  Is  the  elevator  which 
leads  down  to  the  rapids. 

The  width  of  the  chasm  at  the  rapids,  immediately  above  the  Whirl|K)ol,  is  (inly 
eiglit  hundred  feet — this  contraction  being  caused  by  the  compact,  hard  nature  of  the 
sandstone  rocks  through  which  the  river  here  had  to  cut  its  way.  The  depth  of  the 
Niagara  here  must  be  very  great,  and  the  rapidity  of  the  current,  coinbining  willi  the 
volume  of  the  stream,  actually  heaps  up  the  centre  in  a  broken  ridge,  f.om  which  waves 
are  perpetually  forced  into  the  air.  The  color  of  the  Hood  here  is  a  dull  brown,  and 
this  is  continued  as  far  as  the  eye  will  reach,  namely,  beyond  the  Whirlpool,  to  the 
abrupt  turn  to  the  right  which  the  river  makes.  The  Whirlpool  is  not  exactly  a  wliirl- 
pool.  It  is  a  vast  and  furious  eddy,  which,  meeting  with  a  very  faint  resistance  from 
the  shale  and  gravel  of  the  hills  rt  that  precise  point,  cuts  out,  by  its  force,  a  hiijje, 
semicircular  curve,  and  would,  no  doubt,  have  cut  its  way,  but  was  suddenly  arrested  by 
hard  rocks,  which  forced  it  to  make  a  sudden  turn  to  the  right  hand.  There  i>  an 
elevator  here,  the  projicrty  of  the  De  \'eau.\  College,  through  wiiost;  handsome  grounds 
the  carriage  of  the  visitors  is  driven,  the  toll  for  descending  the  wooden  stairs  going  to 
support  the  institution.  We  traverse  painfully  the  downward  road,  and  find  ourselves  at 
the  bottom,  among  liuge  masses  of  fragments,  princi|)allv  of  gypsum,  of  a  very  hard  char- 
acter, whose  edges,  however,  have  been  strangely  and  fantastically  worn  by  the  action  of 
the  water.  These  blocks  are  of  all  sizes,  froin  slabs  weighing  many  tons  to  pieces  no 
larger  than  one's  hand.  Mingled  with  them  are  granite  bowlders,  whose  pink  hue 
makes  them  conspicuous  among  the  gray  gypsum.  Ail  are  partially  covered  willi  ,> 
thick,  velvety  moss,  of  an  intensely  dark  color.  Seating  ourselves  on  these  roek-fia);- 
mcnts,  we  discover  tiiat  we  aie  at  the  head  of  the  Wiiirlpool,  in  the  very  fullest  frenzv 
of  its  rushing  fury.  ,Tbe  chastn  is  still  contracted  here,  and  the  rocks  on  the  C.inada 
side  arc  sandstone,  but  on  the  American  side  limestone.  There  is  on  botii  sides  a  line 
growth  of  deciduous  trees,  and  the  cedars  come  sloping  daintily  down  to  the  lini  ol 
broken  rocks.  The  water  fairly  hisses  as  it  undulates,  seethes,  and  boils.  The  waves  seem 
to  have  a  life  of  their  own,  and  to  be  aniinated  with  human  passions.  Here,  at  this  ex- 
act point,  coines  the  reaction  of  the  eddy;  and  here  one  of  a  series  of  small  whirlpnols 
is  formed,  which  suck  down  trees  head-foremost  in  an  instant,  and  vomit  them  out  in  a 
few  minutes,  with  every  vestige  of  branches  and  bark  completely  gone,  and  greiit  splin- 
ters riven  out  of  the  hard  wooil.  F'ven  after  this  they  do  not  escape,  for  they  are  botiie 
into  the  semicircular  eddy,  and  g«)  wandering  round  and  round  for  days  together.  Tlie 
body  of  Francis  Abbott,  the  hermit  of  Luna  Island,  was  found  here,  but  so  mangled,  so 


aginous  surface 
separately,  from 
her,  the  strands 
)f  the  vibiations 
:  elevator  which 

lirlpool,  is   only 
I  nature  of  tlic 
c  depth  of  the 
bininff  wilii  the 
m  whicli  waves 
lull   brown,  and 
hirlpool,  to   the 
exactly  a  whirl- 
resistance  fiom 
s   force,  a  huge, 
.;nly  arrested  by 
I.     There   i.>  an 
idsome  grounds 
stairs  going  to 
nd  ourselves  at 
very  hard  cliar- 
y  the  action  of 
IS  to  |)ieccs  no 
lose    pinU    iiiie 
covered  willi  ,' 
lu'se    rock-fiaj;- 
\-  fullest   frcn/v 
111    the  Canada 
til  sides  a  tnie 

0  the  line  ol 
he  waves  seem 
eri',  at  this  cx- 
niall  whirl|"iiiK 

1  lien'  out  in  a 
nd  grcut  splin- 
llit'v  are  boiiu- 
logi'ther.  '1  lie 
so  mangled,  mi 


$ 
ft; 

I 


!  I 


THE     CAVE     OF    THE     WINDS 


446 


PICTURESQUE    AMERICA. 


changed  from  what  it  had  been,  that  the  only  being  that  recognized  the  piteous  mass 
of  tortured  flesh  was  the  poor  victim's  dog,  which  crawled  to  the  horror  that  had  once 
been  a  handsome  face,  and  licked  it  with  howls  of  anguish.  He  had  been  seized  witii 
the  cramp  when  taking  his  accustomed  morning  bath  ;  and,  though  his  fate  wrr,  known 
and  his  body  was  searched  for,  it  was  two  days  before  this  awful  place  would  give  up 
its  dead.  At  the  points  where  the  whirlpools  are,  the  scene  is  fairly  terrific ;  the  waters 
battle  and  rage  and  foam.  Current  opposes  current,  wave  fights  wave,  with  hideous 
uproar.  Sometimes  a  wave  is  forced  into  the  air  by  fierce  collision  with  another  from 
an  opposing  side,  and  is  broken  into  masses  of  boiling  foam,  which  the  wind,  as  it 
comes  bellowing  down  the  gorge,  drives  in  sheets  of  spray  along  the  surface  of  the 
struggling  eddies,  and  upon  the  cedars  at  the  brink,  which  in  winter-time  become  masses 
of  icicles,  and  sparkle,  when  the  sun  falls  on  them,  with  a  radiance  greater  than  any 
chandelier  of  banquet-hal!  or  ballroom. 

Ascending  the  elevator  and  regaining  our  carriage,  we  are  now  driven  to  the  bridge 
above  the  Cataract  House,  whicli  connects  the  American  side  with  Bath  Island,  and 
thence  again  with  Goat  Island.  From  the  first-named  the  view  of  the  rapids,  above  the 
fiills,  is  immeasurably  finer  than  on  the  Canadian  side,  and  this  for  two  reasons :  the 
first,  because  the  point  of  observation  is  not  much  above  the  level  of  the  rapids; 
whereas,  froin  the  Canada  side,  you  see  them  from  the  great  elevation  of  the  Prince  ol 
Wales's  Tower ;  and,  secondly,  because  the  water  is  contrasted  at  this  point  with  nunici- 
ous  small  islets,  which  are  crowned  with  cedars,  growing  at  every  possible  angle.  Tiicso 
give  an  iinmense  relief  to  the  current,  and  exhibit  its  rapidity  in  the  strongest  possilile 
manner.  Where  all  is  moving,  the  motion  seems  less  fierce ;  but  these  stationary  islets 
act  as  a  foil.  This  is  a  good  place  to  study  the  lines  of  waves,  for  the  appearance 
of  these  rapids  is  c.<actly  that  of  a  tempestuous  sea,  whose  billows  are  heaved  and 
tossed  in  every  direction,  and  yet,  at  tiic  same  time,  are  forced  forward  by  an  irresistil)le 
current.  The  time  to  visit  this  spot  is  at  night,  for  then  the  moon,  rising  slowly  in  the 
heavens,  sends  its  light  through  the  very  verge  of  the  cataract,  shining  through  the 
extreme  edge.  Rising  higher,  it  casts  its  beams  over  the  angry  rapids,  turning  the  dark 
waves  into  moving  ebony,  and  the  foam  into  molten  silver.  But  we  cannot  delay  iicre, 
for  the  guide  has  to  convey  us  over  the  faitiier  bridge  on  to  Goat  Island,  where  \v( 
land  amid  all  the  smiling  glories  of  a  garden,  and  inhale  with  satisfaction  the  perfumes 
of  roses  and  heliotropes.  The  soil  of  the  island  is  fertile;  fine  cedars  grow  in  evrn 
direction,  and  there  are  elms  and  basswoods.  Underwood  is  also  plentiful,  and  the  grass 
grows  long  and  green.  Tiiere  was  a  smiling  farm  here  once,  and  may  be  again,  Im 
there  is  an  area  of  one  hundred  and  fiftv  acres  to  the  isle.  But  the  fate  of  Goat  Island 
is  df>omed.  Sooner  or  latir  it  will  be  all  carried  away  by  the  remorseless  water,  whiili 
bears  away,  year  after  year,  yards  upon  yards  of  its  circumscribed  and  narrow  bounds.  It 
is  a  pleasant  and  a  smiling  spdt   in  summer-time,  much  beloved  by  the  white  gulls  tiiat 


NIAGARA. 


447 


;he  piteous  mass 
)r  that  had  once 
been  seized  wiih 

fate  \VP5  known 
;  would  give  up 
rrific ;  the  waters 
ve,  with  hideous 
'ith  another  from 

the  wind,  as  it 
le  surface  of  the 
le  become  masses 
greater   than    any 

ven  to  the  bridge 

Bath    Island,  and 

rapids,  above  the 

two    reasons  :   the 

el   of    the   rapids; 

of  the  Prince  ot 

point  with  numer- 

iblc  angle.     These 

strongest  possible 

se  stationary  islets 

jr   the    appearance 

s   are    heaved    and 

by  an  irresistible 

sing  slowly  in  tlie 

ining   through   tlie 

;,  turning  the  dark 

cannot  delay  iuie, 

Island,  where  we 
ction  the  perfumes 
ars  grow  in  evnv 
tiful,  and  the  grass 
niav  be  again,  lur 
ato  of  Goat  Island 
seless  water,  vviiitii 
narrow  bounds.  It 
lie  white  gulls  tli.it 


hover  with  impunity  close  ovei 
the  falls,  and  seize  their  finny 
p—y  in  the  very  shadow  of 
the  great  cloud  of  smoky  spray 
that  rises  from  the  Horseshoe. 
On  the  left  side  there  is 
a  bridge  wnich  connects  with 
Terrapin  Tower,  built  on  a 
firm  rock,  right  upon  the  verge 
of  the  precipitous  cataract.  We 
pfo  across,  and  mount  the  stairs 
with  somewhat  stinted  breath ; 
and,  when  we  arrive  at  the 
summit,  we  do,  indeed,  catch 
the  sublimes?  view  of  the  falls 
which  can  be  found.  We  see 
nothing  but  the  Horseshoe 
Falls,  it  is  true ;  but  we  see 
all  t)f  that,  and  w;  discern  the 
full  fury  of  the  torrent,  and 
catch  the  utmost  glory  of  the 
rainl)ow.  The  clouds  of  spray 
seem  mounting  up  to  us,  to 
drag  us  down  into  the  abyss 
below.  They  come  wreatiiing 
u|)  like  exhalations  from  an 
enchanter's  den,  twisting  them- 
selves into  fantastic  shapes,  that 
stretch  forth  arms  to  S'^ize  us 
in  D'.ir  tovvr  of  strength.  We 
descend  again,  cross  the  bridge, 
and  lind  ourselves  again  on 
Cioat  Island,  (ietting  ^ome 
refreshment  in  one  of  the 
many  nice  places  round  about, 
we  take  a  rest,  and  then  renew 
our  investigations.  I'Vom  Termi- 
nation Point  we  go  down  Bid- 
dy's  Stairway,   ha*  ing   donned 


Below  Amcrlciii  Fall. 


44b 


PICTURESQUE    AMERICA. 


Ill 


amid  all 
ceded   by 
our  faces 


I.una  Island  in  Winter. 

oil-skin     suits,    and     make 

our    way    painfully    to    the 

bottom     of     the      rocks, 

which      arc      even      more 

arched    in    formation    tlian 

on  the  Canada  side,  and  ilic 

thway  is  still  broader.     Here  \vc 

come   to   the   fiimous  Cave  of  the 

»  Winds,  which   has    been   for   niinv 

years  the  preat  lion  of  the  American  Fall.     Nature  has  lucn 

assisted    here    by   the    hand    of    man,  for    bridges    have   lieen 

l)uilt   from    rock    to   rock,  under   the   very   cataract    itself,  and 

its  vapory  spray  and  turmoil  and  deafening   roar.      We   stagger  blindly  on,  pa- 

the  guide,  and   blinded  by  the  torrents  of  spray  that  arc  incessantly  daslieil  in 

and  on  our  backs.     The  concussion  of  the  waters  produces  corresponding  cur- 


NIAGARA. 


449 


Island  in  Winter. 

suits,  and  make 
painfully  to  tlic 
of  the  rocks, 
iro  even  more 
II  formation  tliaii 
nada  side,  and  the 
l)roader.  Hero  we 
mous  Cave  of  tlie 
as  been  for  many 
Nature  has  I  Km 
)ridj;es  have  lucii 
cataract  itself,  and 
cr  blindly  on,  prc- 
cessantly  dashed  in 
corresponding  cur- 


!  -. 

w 


Ictr-Foniis. 


rents  of  air,  which  beat 
and  buffet  and  twirl  us 
alioiit  as  if  we  were  with- 
(lut  tiie  power  of  resist- 
ance. The  sun  shines 
down  upon  tiie  seethinjj;  waters,  and 
its  slantinjr  arrows  of  liirht  are  seized 
uiKin   by   the    mist,   and    i)n)Uen    into 

myriad   scintillations  of  prismatic    hues,  into    fragmentary   rain- 
liows,  and   globes  and    bubbles   of  crimson   and  green.      If  we 
could  sto|)  to  admire,  how  glorious  it  would  be !     Ikit  we  can- 
not hold  up  our  heads,  and  we  dare  scarce  open  our  eyes,  for  columns 
lit  spray  are  drifting  and   sweeping    madly  in   every  direction.     First,  a 
torrent  pours  down  u|)on  our  heads,  protected  by  immense  water-jiroofs ; 
thru  another  descends  U|)on  our  backs;  a  third  comes  driving  against  our  legs;   a  fourth. 
with   an  insidious  spiral   twist,  manages  to  inundate   our  faces,  in  spite  of  the  protecting 
liood ;  and    they  come  with   such  violence   that    they  fairly  knock   the  breath   out   of  our 
bodies.      All  this  wlule  our  ears  are  stunned  by  a  demoniacal  orgy  of  sounds.     Tiie  eata- 


•^ 


450 


PICTURESQUE    AMERICA. 


li'i 


1^      I 


ract  shrieks  and  groans  and  howls  and  bellows  in  fifty  different  accents  at  once,  while  over 
all  dominates  the  deep,  booming  roar  of  the  distant  Horseshoe  Fall.  There  are  voices 
in  the  uproar,  heard  but  faintly — voices  that  are  not  articulate  to  human  ears,  but  such 
as  paeans  may  have  Been  sung  in,  or  Orpheus  may  have  charmed  the  brutes  with.  We 
cannot  distinguish  any  words,  and  yet  the  voices  are  full  of  meaning.  They  seem  to  wail 
and  to  invite,  to  murmur  and  to  threaten,  and  they  are  clearly  distinguishable  amid  the 
l:ideous  sounds  that  reign  within  the  enchanted  space. 

Close  here  is  the  bridge  which  leads  over  to  Luna  Island,  a  small  grain  of  dry  land 
in  the  very  curve  of  the  fall.  It  is  pleasant  enough  in  summer,  for  it  has  evergreens, 
trees  and  bushes,  grasses  and  wild -flowers  in  abundance,  the  atmosphere  of  spray  by 
which  it  is  surrounded  being  apparently  favorable  to  vegetation.  At  night-time,  when 
there  is  a  moon,  a  fine  lunar  bow  is  visible  from  the  bridge  that  connects  it  with  (loat 
Island,  and  hence  its  name.  But  the  great  glory  of  Luna  Island  is  in  the  winter,  wlien 
all  the  vegetation  is  inerusted  with  frozen  spray.  The  grasses  are  no  longer  massed 
in  tufts,  but  each  particular  blade  is  sheathed  in  a  scabbard  of  diamonds,  and  flashes 
radiantly  at  every  motion  of  the  wind.  Every  tree,  according  to  its  foliage,  receives  the 
frozen  masses  differently.  In  some,  especially  evergreens  with  pinnatifid  leaves,  each 
separate  needle  is  covered  with  a  fine  coating  of  dazzling  white.  In  others,  where  the 
boughs  and  branches  are  bare,  the  spray  lodges  upon  the  twigs,  and  gives  to  the  eye 
cubes  of  ice,  that  greatly  resemble  the  uncouth  joints  of  the  cactus.  In  some  ever- 
greens the  spray,  being  rejected  by  the  oleaginous  particles,  forms  in  apple-like  balls  at 
the  extremities  of  the  twigs  and  the  nooks  of  the  branches.  Those  close  to  the  verge 
of  the  fall  are  loaded  so  completely  with  dazzling  heaps  of  collected  frozen  spray,  that 
the  branches  often  give  way,  and  the  whole  glittering  heap  comes  flashing  down  in 
crumbling  ruin.  On  the  ground,  the  spray  falls  in  granulated  circular  drops  of  opa(|iie 
white ;  but,  wherever  there  is  a  stone  or  a  bow'der,  ice  is  massed  about  it  in  a  thousand 
varying  shapes.  Let  us  peep  down  from  the  verge,  and,  regardless  of  the  noise  ant!  the 
smoke  of  the  water-fall,  give  our  attention  solely  to  the  ice.  It  stretches  in  great  col- 
umns from  the  top  to  the  bottom  of  the  falls,  and  a  colonnade  is  formed,  such  as  one 
reads  of  in  the  fantastic  stories  of  the  East,  where  alabaster  and  marble,  jade  and  por- 
phyry, are  carried  to  the  skies  in  tiie  treinendous  palaces  of  preadamitie  kings.  Tlie 
frozen  spray,  descending  upon  these,  covers  them  with  a  delicate  tracery  of  flowers  and 
fei..j,  and  even  of  resemblance  to  human  heads,  wiiich  is  a  beautiful  sight  and  a  strange. 
In  winter-time  we  may  not  descend  on  the  Ainerican  side;  but,  if  we  might,  surely  we 
should  discern  the  most  wondrous  ice-configurations  along  the  verge  of  the  pathway,  'ihe 
descent  can  be  made  at  this  time  under  the  Table  Rock;  and  the  visitor  passes  from 
the  stairwa)s  into  a  delile  of  the  kind  that  Dante  dreamed  of  in  his  frozen  Bolgia. 
Along  the  side  of  the  rock-walls  are  rows  of  stalactites,  about  the  size  of  the  human 
body,  to  which   all    of  them    bear   a   quaint   resemblance.      Upon   the   other  side,  massed 


NIAGARA. 


451 


once,  while  over 
There  are  voices 
III  ears,  but  such 
)rutes  with.  We 
hey  seem  to  wail 
lishable  amid  the 

T;rain  of  dr\-  land 
t  has  everjfrcciis, 
icre   of  spray   liv 
nifiht-timc,  when 
;cts  it  with  Goat 
the  winter,  when 
10  longer   massed 
onds,  and   flashes 
iage,  receives  the 
tifid   leaves,  each 
others,  where  tlie 
gives  to  the  eve 
In   some   cvei- 
i]iple-lil<e  halls  at 
lose  to  the  verge 
Frozen  spray,  that 
lashing   down  in 
drops  of  opa(|ue 
it  in  a  thousand 
he  noise  ant!  the 
lies   in  great  coi- 
ned, such  as  one 
)le,  jade  and  \w\- 
litic    kings.     Tiie 
y  of  flowers   and 
lit  and  a  strantre 
might,  surely  we 
he  |)athwav.    The 
sitor   passes   from 
is    frozen    Holiria. 
'.c   of  the    human 
)ther  side,  massed 


along  the  verge  of  the  bank,  arc  ice-heaps  that  mount  up  fifty  feet  into  the  troubled  air, 
some  of  them  partially  columnar  in  shape,  but  the  majcjrity  looking  like  coils  of  enor- 
mous serpents,  that  have  been  changed,  by  the  rod  of  an  enchanter,  into  sullen  ice. 

It  must  be  remembered  that,  if  winter  gives  much,  it  also  takes  much  away.  If  it 
covers  the  trees  and  the  grass  with  diamonds,  and  heaps  up  ice-serpents,  and  builds 
colonnades   and    spires   and    obelisks,  it   takes   away   a   great   part   of  the  volume   of  the 


Tree  crushed  by  Frozen  Spray. 

water,  for  the  thousand  rills  that  feed  the  great  lakes  have  been  rent  from  the  hills  by 
tile  fierce  hand  of  the  Frost-giant,  and  clank  around  his  waist  as  a  girdle.  Those  who 
love  color  and  light,  anc'  majesty  of  sound,  will  do  well  to  come  in  the  summer;  those 
who  like  the  strange,  the  fantastic,  and  the  fearful,  must  come  in  the  wint-  •.  But  the 
tnie  lover  of  the  picturesque  in  Nature  will  come  at  both  times.  Each  has  its  special 
charm ;  each  has  some  things  which  the  other  lacks ;  but  in  both  are  features  of  tran- 
scendent beauty. 


W^^'W^rm^ 


TRENTON    FALLS. 


WITH     ILLUSTRATIONS     liY     IIAKRY    FKNN. 


^?||f!ifjjili4'!|if| 


mmi 


Sherman    Kill. 

IV  yf  ANY  persons  who  visit  Niagara  froin  the  East  make  a  point  of  seeinp:  Trenton 
■^^ ■*-  Falls  on  their  return,  as  this  most  picturesque  and  superb  chasm  lies  almost 
upon  the  road,  beinjr  some  fourteen  miles  from  Utica.  Could  the  secret  thoiip;hts  of 
these  be  made  known,  it  is  not  impossible  that  we  mijrht  discover  a  decided  prefciciia' 
for  the  less  famous  place.  Our  expectations  are  so  wrought  up  with  regard  to  Niagara, 
by  the  praises  of  poets  from  every  land,  and  by  the  efforts  of  the  most  famous  painters 


TRENTON  FALLS. 


453 


to  translate  its  glories  upon  canvas,  that,  when  we  first  see  it,  the  feeling  uppermost  is, 
not  unfrcqucnlly,  one  of  disappointment,  if  not  absolute  dissatisfaction.     It  is  not  so  with 
Trenton  Falls,  where  we  expect  much  less,  and  iind,  indeed,  far  more  than  was  expected. 
And,  again,  the   surroundings  of  the   latter   are   in   every  way   more   pleasant.      The   ex- 
change  from   the   infinite   extortions   and  swindlings,  and  the  measureless  rapacity  of  the 
Niagara   cormorants,  to   the   polished   ease   and   refined    hospitality  of  the   Trenton    Palls 
Hotel  is  one  that   inevitably  puts  us  into  good-humor  with  every  thing  we  see,  and   en- 
ables us  to  see  every  thing  through  a  roseate   hue  of  pleasure.     And,  more  than  this,  it 
must    be    admitted   that    the   glories   of    Niagara   are   confined   to    the   wonderful   chasm 
through  which  that  enormous  body  of  water  flows.      At  Trenton   the   api)roaches  to  the 
enchanted   land    are   made   through    a   beautiful   pastoral   country,  wiiere   the   fields,  laden 
with   i)earded  grain,  rise  and   fall  in   undulating  slopes    and  ricii   bottom-lands,  permeated 
by  l)abbling    Ijroohs,  that  go  singing   on    their   meandering  way.     Tiie   immediate   advent 
to  the  falls  themselves  is  in  the  close  vicinity  of  the  hotel.     Leaving  a  beautiful  and  ex- 
tensive garden  on  the  right  hand,  smiling  in  all  the  luxuriance  of  the  lush  summer  vege- 
tation, we  |)lunge  at  once  into  the  heart  of  a  forest  filled  with  noble  trees,  many  of  them 
dark   cedars  of  huge   size,  and   spreading,  feathery    foliage.      Tiie    light  of  the   July   sun 
streams   through    the   dim    cathedral    atmosphere,    made    by   the   overhanging   bougiis,    in 
broad,  golden    arro  vs,  which,  slanting   through    the   heavier   foliage  of  the   trees,  fall  lov- 
iiitrly  upon    the   earth    beneath,  covered    m    many  places   with   an   actual   carj)et   of   wild- 
tlowers.     Among  these,  the  lovely  bluebell  is  the  most   prominent,  and,  by  contrast  with 
tlie   darker   hues   around    it,  specially  of  the    mosses,  its   azure  becomes  almost   violet   in 
tone.      The   ground   rises   higher  and    higher,  and   beyond,  in  the  immediate   distance,  we 
discern  grand  iiill-forms,  covered  with  noble  trees.     But,  between  them  and  us,  there  is  a 
great   gulf,  for    suddenly    our   progress   is   arrested.      We    find    ourselves    upon    the   very 
i)rink  of  a  great    chasm,  whose  very  existence    has   been    hidden    from    us,  being   masked 
by  the  rise  of  the  earth,  and  by  the  glorious   growth   of  the  noble  trees.      Across   upon 
the   opposite    side   is  a  rock-wall   of  limestone,  hard,  and   nearly    black,  that   rises,  almost 
jierpendicularly,  to   a   height  varying    from    two  to  three   hundred   feet.      This  is  crowned 
with   great   hemlocks,  with    fine  birches,  whose  white   trunks   glimmer  through  the  forest 
ol)scurity,  and  with  cedars,  many  of  which,  from  the  yielding  of  the  roots,  are  bent  down 
at  a  most   perilous   angle,  and  hang  over  the  abyss,  nodding  to  their  own  expected  and 
imminent  fall  when  the  wind   strikes   among  their   outstretched    branches.      Down   below, 
tiie   eye    drops   instinctively,  as  if  to   sec   what   would    become   of   them,  and   catches   a 
glimpse  of  the   Kanata   River  rushing   onward    through    its    rocky   bed    in    a   tumultuous 
torrent.     Here  the  first  descent  is  made  iiy  a  series  of  wooden   ladders,  and,  after  a  little 
exertion,  we  are  landed  safely  upon   the   bank   of  the   stream,  which   is  composed  of  flat 
masses  of  limestone  cut  by  the  hand  of   Nature  into  great  slabs,  as   evenly  and  as  regu- 
larly as  a  mason  would  have  done  it.     We  look  up  and  see  the  blue,  brilliant  sky,  across 


m 


OKNEMAU     VlttW     OK     IKliNlliN      IXLL-i,      I-UCJM      tASI       HANK. 


TRENTON    FALLS. 


455 


which  the  cedars  hanjEj  in  dark  lines.  We  look  ahead,  and  see  the  first  one  of  the  series 
of  the  falls,  which  are  six  in  number,  and  known  as  Sherman  Fall,  after  John  Sherman, 
the  firandson  of  Roger  Sherman,  of  Revolutionary  fame,  who  discovered  this  superb 
c'lasm  in  1806.  Here  the  river  has  formed  an  immense  excavation  from  the  limestone, 
aid  falls  some  forty  feet  into  its  bed  below  with  a  most  furious  roaring.  Its  color  is  a 
rich  brown,  which,  touched  here  and  there  by  slanting  sun-rays,  presents  the  hues  of 
molten  gold.  Back  of  this  sheet  of  water,  the  reaction  of  the  torrent  has  worn  away 
the  rock  in  an  exact  circular  curve,  some  ten  feet  in  diameter,  which  exhibits  a  furiously- 
boiling  caldron  of  white  foam,  streaked  with  every  possible  shade  of  b.own.  Below  this 
is  a  cloud  of  spray,  looking  like  the  thick  smoke  of  burning  leaves,  which  hides  the  tu- 
mult of  the  falling  water.  Here,  in  the  afternoon,  is  a  most  lovely  rainbow,  which  forms 
at  right  angles  to  the  chasm,  and  spans  one  side  of  the  bank  on  the  right-hand  side. 
Some  twenty  yards  from  this  spot  a  thin  shelf  of  rock  juts  out  from  the  wall,  under 
which  we  stand  perfectly  sheltered  from  the  showers  of  spray.  Above  this  fall  the 
Kanata  boils  in  a  succession  of  the  most  furious  raj)ids,  where  the  brown  water  is  forced 
uji  into  great  ridges,  on  which  the  sunlight  falls  with  most  delicious  effect.  The  walls 
oil  ciliicr  side  open  out  considerably,  ano  their  height  varies,  going  down  to  one  hun- 
ched and  fifty  feet,  and  mounting  up  two  hundred  feet  highei  at  tiiat  point,  which  lias 
liiiii  named  tiie  I'innacle.  The  path  h-'re  is  very  wide,  and  will  allow  of  the  progress 
cf  thirty  and  even  forty  people  in  places.  But  suddenly  !he  rapid  Kanata,  as  if  jealous 
of  lier  supremacy,  makes  a  bend  to  the  bank,  and  drives  us  all  under  a  low,  pro- 
jecting cliff",  where  we  are  all  comi)clled  to  bow  the  head.  When  this  obstacle  has 
liicn  surmounted,  we  find  ourselves  immediately  in  presence  of  the  great  fall,  two  hundred 
yards  aheail  of  us.  This  fall  is  duplex,  but  the  eye  from  this  point  can  take  in  all. 
Immediately  in  our  front  is  a  tumultuous  mass  of  foam,  covcrit  descent  of  forty  le  t. 

Tliis  distance  is  not  overcome  in  one  bold  fall,  but  has  evidently  been  broken  into  a 
succession  of  rocky  stairways,  so  close  to  each  other  that  the  whole  appears  as  one  huge, 
extravagant,  boiling  stretch  of  whirling,  shifting  foam,  (juite  covering  the  rocky  ledge, 
i'.^siiig  this,  nor  stopping  to  admire  the  great  rapidity  of  tlie  water  rushing  from  the 
other  half  of  this  high  fall,  we  see  the  latter  in  its  full  beauty.  The  water  here 
rushes  over  a  ledge  of  rocks,  which  stretch  from  bank  to  bank  diagonally,  witii  a  full 
height  of  seventy-five  feet.  Above  this  the  walls  rise  lor  one  hundred  and  thirtv  feet, 
uni  (juite  peri)eiuliculail\,  on  account  of  a  change  in  the  stratification,  l"oi,  between 
the  great  slabs  of  dark-gray  limestone,  com.  thin  stiata  of  loose,  crumbling  shale,  which 
alliird  root-hold  to  dwarf  cedars  of  low  height,  but  of  extiuisite  fulness  of  branch  and 
foliage.  In  the  centre  of  the  ledge  the  black  limestone  shovvs  in  Irowiiing  masses,  like 
lh(  projecting  corner  of  a  bastion  or  a  bartizan  tower,  and  this  divides  the  lall  here  into 
luu.  Between  the  opposite  shore  and  this  dividing  lock  the  stream  falls  in  a  thin,  sil- 
very sheet  for  seventy-five  feet,  being  broken  into  numerous  cascades  by  projecting  slabs 


frii 

1 

■■■    i 

^^^H    mi 

TRENTON   FALLS. 


457. 


of  limestone.  But,  close  to  the  bank,  at  whose  foot  the  visitors  creep  in  alternate  ec- 
stasy and  awe,  is  t'.ie  great  glory  of  the  chasm.  For  here  is  the  gross  volume  of  the 
water  poured  in  (/nc  tremendous,  arching  flood  down  into  the  bed  below.  On  each  side, 
where  the  leap  is  taken,  are  jutting  masses  of  rock  that  enviously  would  hem  it  in,  but, 
by  contracting  their  gates,  they  only  concentrate  the  strength  of  the  leaping  river,  and 
add  to  the  bold  force  of  its  curves.  The  color  is  an  extraordinary  topaz  ime,  like  noth- 
in<r  ever  seen  in  any  other  land,  or  in  any  other  part  of  America.  It  resembles  a  cas- 
cade of  melted  topaz,  or  of  liquid,  translucent  porphyry,  as  far  as  the  color  goes ;  but 
what  can  compare  to  the  exquisite  character  of  its  changing  tints.?  For,  as  the  water 
aeseends,  that  which  was  brown  becomes  lighter  and  lighter,  until  actually  white,  and 
then,  as  it  nears  the  smok}-  clouds  of  spray  at  its  base,  becomes  dark  again.  It  is  like 
the  changing  sheen  on  velvet,  or  the  glancing  hues  on  the  finest  fur.  Gazing  steadily 
upiiii  it,  and  letting  its  beauties  infdtrate  slowly  into  the  mind,  we  realize  how  bold  is 
the  leap,  how  vigorous  is  the  curve,  for  it  is  to  the  latter  that  this  curious  effect  of 
coll  IIS  is  due.  The  stream  is  impelled  forward  into  the  air  as  vigorously  as  if  shot  from 
some  wheel  constructed  by  a  Titan  miller.  Hence  the  immense  clouds  of  spray  that 
rise  up  from  the  boiling,  seething,  twisting,  tormented  flood  below.  The  great  chasm  is 
full  of  it.  It  not  only  comes  upon  us  in  showers,  and  makes  us  hug  the  side  of  the 
hank,  but  it  floats  in  great  wreaths  in  the  upper  air,  sailing  through  the  chasm  at  a 
height  fijr  above  that  which  rises  from  the  second  section  below.  Turning  ungrateful 
backs  upon  the  glorious  topaz  flow,  we  gaze  down  the  gorge,  lost  in  love  and  admira- 
tion of  the  God  that  made  the  world  so  fair. 

The  bank  on  the  opposite  side,  owing  to  the  shale  additions,  has  lost  its  perpen- 
dicular majesty  and  frown,  but  has  received  compensation  in  gentler  curves  and  in  a 
mantle  of  lovely  dwarf-cedars.  High  above  ns  is  the  line  of  firs  and  cedars  that  stretch 
along  the  tops  of  the  hills,  forming  the  crests  of  the  chasm  ;  and  beyond,  below  the  first 
fall  (which,  however,  cann(>t  be  seen,  by  reason  of  the  curving  of  the  stream),  is  the 
jrreil  I'iiniacle,  mitred  with  hendocks  and  ced.iis,  button-woods  and  great  lindens.  Below 
this  llie  walls  again  become  perpendicular,  and  shut  out  the  day  with  their  rock-curtains, 
leaving,  however,  a  to])niost  peeping  of  brilliant-blue  skv,  and  hints  (tf  geiith',  golden 
clouds  sailing  jjlacidly  over  the  abyss.  And  then  eoine  the  sunlight  and  its  golden 
annus  to  glorifv  the  whole,  and  raise  the  pulse  of  cestasv  to  maddening  height  ;  tor 
lieneath  the  touches  of  the  sun-enchanler  the  clouds  of  smoke,  as  they  break  into  mist- 
urcaths,  are  transformed  into  prismatic  sparklets  of  transcendent  glory,  ami  below  them 
a  rainbow  is  formed,  of  such  delicate  beauty  as  words  cannot  paint,  Higher,  higher,  sails 
the  mist,  and  streams  of  radiant  color  impinge  upon  the  deep  green  of  the  cedars  and 
tilt  hemlocl'S.  The  chasm  liecomes  full  of  prismatic  hues;  it  is  alive  with  living  light, 
glowing  with  strange,  unexampled  splendors,  burning  with  lambent  Hushes;  an<l  the 
Kanata    below,   raging   with   all    the   wrath   of  battle   W'th    the   primeval    rocks,   l)ecomes 


It 


458 


PIC  TURESQ UE   AMERICA . 


Part  of  lli>.h  I'.ill, 


plorilictl  ill  iKilclics  luic  and  llurc,  ,m:l  trlows  with  nil  the  liistn'  of  Inimishcd  ynld 
wherever  llu-  >^imlijulil  falls  ti|H>n  its  waves.  l'.\iii  llie  dark  pools,  streaked  with  wImk 
lines  ot  raeinir  Ibaiii.  heeoiiie  a  lender  yieen  throuuli  the  orange  mist.  And  thi'  di.i- 
pason  <il  its  roarini;  liei(nnes,  to  the  car  ot"  the  man  peiietiiUed  with  (he  heaiitiUil.  a 
loud    Ininn    i>|    trinniph    and    oi    praise    to    tlu'    jfical     Maker  of   all.       Nm    will    ihe  wiml 


TRENTON   FALLS. 


459 


be  denied  its  share  in  tiic  clioral  lay ;  for  it  stirs  tiie  huge  branches  of  the  everp^rcen, 
and  makes  them  yivc  forth  tender  rustlinj^s  of  thanks  and  joy.  liarth,  air,  and  water, 
join  in  one  fjrand  harmony;  l)iit  man,  the  master-spirit,  is  silent,  lor  in  silence  his  spirit 
spt'aks  most  clo(iiiently.  I?ut,  thou<>;h  no  word  is  spoken,  the  heart — the  human  iicart 
that  weeps  and  trembles — is  touched  to  its  remotest  deptiis,  and  from  its  deeps  comes 
liack  an  answer  to  the  sonsj  of  the  elements. 

With  eyes  unsatiated,  with  ears  that  would  fain  drink  in  more,  and  with  ste])s  tliLJt 
reluctantly  leave  the  enchanted  spot,  we  turn  once  more  to  the  t<)])az  How  of  the  cata- 
ract, and  we  mount  up  a  stairway,  built  b\-  Mr.  Moore,  to  a  rocky  plateau  stretchinjr 
out  over  the  brim  of  the  fall.  Here  we  watch  the  crossinLjf  lir.cs  of  the  stream,  that 
indicate  the  jarrinij  violence  of  its  currents,  and  lau<rh  to  see  the  <:reat  trees,  that  have 
been  torn  from  tiieir  roots  amonjr  the  passes  of  the  distant  hills,  come,  swift  as  arrow 
from  the  Tartar  ixnv,  uptjn  the  surface  of  the  waters,  that  hurl  them  down  the  remorse- 
less rapids. 

Bv  this  time,  the  ladies  of  the  party  are  <ienerally  pretty  tired,  and  are  f;lail  to  liiul 
refreshment  and  rest  at  the  Rural  Retreat,  a  comfortable  wooden  dialct,  built  at  the  foot 
(if  tiie  plateau,  under  the  shadow  of  tiie  bank.  This  is  the  half-way  house.  Here  a  hall 
is  ffladlv  made.  Hut  enthusiastic  freolofjists  take  the  opportunity  of  searchinjj  for  fossils, 
for  tiie  rocks  here  abound  in  |)etrifactions.  It  would  be  useless  to  f.;(,>  into  a  detail  of 
all  the  different  genera  and  species  of  the  fossils,  but  an  omission  of  the  large  nilobite 
peculiar  to  this  spot  would  be  im|)ardonable.  The  generic  name  given  to  it  by  Di. 
Dckav,  of  New  \'ork,  is  the  isotelas ;  and  it  seems  Ko  be  settled  that  it  was  a  crusta- 
cean, of  which  the  only  living  thing  that  at  all  resembles  it  in  modern  da\s  is  the 
hurseshoe-crab.  It  had  dorsal  slips,  or  lobes,  terminated  like  Indian  paddles;  so  it  is  t(j 
he  |)resumed  that  the  isotelas  could  swim  as  well  as  crawl  along  Jie  bottom  of  the  sea. 
Ik'sides  this  one,  there  are  the  fossils  which  all  over  the  world  are  fouml  in  rocks  of 
the  same  order  and  character.  There  are  nilobites  of  other  genera;  orthoceratitcs,  b  )tii 
lari^f  and  small;  ammonites  and  favosites ;  and  otiu  r  things  of  dr-'adful  nomenclature. 
(It.n  to  the  scientific  heart.  Uesides  these,  there  are  those  (|ueer  geologic  forms  known 
as  geodes,  which  country-pco|ile  believe  to  lie  thunder-bolts,  but  wiiieh,  when  luoken 
(i|Kn,  show  beautiful  crystals  of  (piartz.  • 

.\flir  leaving  the  Rural  Retreat,  the  ;hasm  o|>ens  out  to  right  and  left,  .md  the 
bulks  become  less  formidable.  Two  bundled  vards  from  the  Cireat  {"all  is  anoliier,  whieh 
is  called  the  .MilUDam,  from  its  reguhuitv  and  soberness  of  demeanor.  The  ledge  over 
which  the  wateis  pour  in  one  uniform  Hood,  with  a  descent  of  twelve  feel  only,  extends 
lV(im  side  to  side  in  .m  unbroken  slrelch  of  level  rock.  There  arc  no  protruding  masses 
•  if  limestone  here  to  disturb  the  eiiuanimity  of  liie  K.m.it.i,  so  that  the  landscape  here 
piisonis  nothing  rough  or  angular.  The  banks  aie  not  moie  than  a  hundred  feel  high 
at  this  point;   but  they  are  perpendicular,  and  would   be  yltjomy,  wore  it  not  for  the  ex- 


lip 


460 


PIC  TURESQ  UE    A  ME  RICA. 


pansion  of  the  chasm,  whioh  admits  a  full  view  of  the  vegetation  on  the  tops  of  the 
banks.  These  are  undulating,  rising  into  hill-crests,  and  falling  into  pleasant  dales,  all 
being  deeply  wooded  by  fine  trees.  The  path  along  the  smooth,  even,  limestone  rock 
becomes  here  broader  and  broader,  until  it  opens  out  upon  the  iVlhambra  Fall,  a  jilacc 
which  has  been  the  despair  of  artists  and  of  descriptive  writers.     The  rocks  on  each  side 


Al)mnil>rii  Foil. 


arc  here  much  bolder,  and  are  fringed  from  top  to  bottom  with  superb  cedars,  e.xteniluii; 
down  to  the  pathway.  The  brai.ehes  are  all  thrust  forward  in  jine,  pyramidal  shapes,  tin 
trunks  being  (juite  denuded,  and  as  bare  as  the  rock-walls  which  the  cedars  conoal. 
Ibis  gives  to  the  foliage  an  unusual  fulness  and  developmt.it.  The  rock-ledge  tiV(r 
which  tin-  water  lumides  is  here  (juite  naked,  and  fully  si.xty  feet  high,  showing  its  sli  ili- 
ficalion    liuf    \\\ma\    Hue,  tier    upon    tier.       Ihe  top  shelves  over  somewhat,  and  the  wiin 


TRENTON  FALLS. 


461 


the  tops  of  ll,^, 
pleasant  dales,  all 
11,  limestone  rock 
il)ra  I--all,  a  place 
Deks  on  eaeh  side 


pours  over  this  in  a  superb,  amber  sheet  on  the  rijiht  hand ;  while  on  the  left  is  a  wild 
cataract,  where  the  stream  rushes  over  the  various  strata,  arrayed  like  great  stairs  in  a 
succession  of  infinitely-varied  falls,  combining  the  forms  of  the  gentlest  cascade  and  the 
most  savage  torrent.  On  the  very  verge  of  the  rock,  on  the  right  hand,  are  tall  cedars 
whose  apices  are  lifted  aloft,  pointing  up  to  the  skies,  and  whose  thick  branches,  elongat- 


ii- 


Ifcml  nl  the  Rn\iiH'. 


■edars,  extcmliiip 
lidal  shapes,  the 
cedars  concial. 
rock-ledge  ovir 
owing  its  sliiii- 
.  and  the  w  itci 


ing  gradually  toward  the  roots,  reach  far  down  the  projecting  clilT  \^ilh  an  impenetrable 
shuie  of  deepest  verdure.  And  now  the  expansive  form  of  the  chas.n  suildenly  eon- 
II. Ids,  and  leaves  a  narrow  aperture,  through  which  we  see  niduntainous  walls  retiring  in 
viiIdus  curvatures  and  projections.  Directiv  opposite  our  eyes  is  a  large  rock,  perpeii- 
til' nlar  as  the  Tarpeian  ClitT,  at  wliose  base  the  waters  glide  with  a  swift,  calm  motion, 
I'll  are  dark  and  deej).      Close    to    this,  a  tower    of   limestone  rises  in  a  vast    column   at 


462 


PICTURESQUE    AMERICA. 


its  side,  commanding  like  a  king  the  hills  around.  At  our  feet  is  a  basin,  where  the 
water  collects  its  forces,  and  reposes  in  preparation  for  the  contests  to  come.  Fartlier 
down,  it  glides  by  a  gentle  descent, 
through  a  charming  plain,  and  is  hid- 
den behind  the  overhanging  cedars 

Still   ascending    the    stream    of    the 
Kanata,   though   the    foaming,  dashing 
waters  would  seem  to  forbid  our   pas- 
sage,   we    come    upon     a     grand 
amphitheatre  of  rock,  unseen    be- 
fore, where  towers    a   mass  of 
limestone,  from  whose  impend- 
ing cliff  great  slabs  fall  year  by 
year.    Between  this 
deposited    pile    and  . 
its  base  the         ,^ 
path    runs;    ,  ;.*1 
and  to  keep 


]^^i['^y^^s.^*:j^j': 


Lovers'  Walk. 


TRENTON   FALLS. 


463 


out  of  harm's  way,  for  fear  a  slab  should  take  a  fancy  to  drop  at  the  moment  of  our 
visit,  we  hug  the  water's  edge,  being  less  alarmed  at  its  threatening  roar  than  at  the 
silent  menace  of  the  overhanging  limestone.  The  danger  from  the  falling  rocks  is 
greater  in  the  spring-time,  after  the  frosts  of  winter. 

As  we  pass  beyond  this  column,  we  disover  a  singular  natural  fireplace,  carved 
out  by  the  river,  in  a  sportive  mood,  from  some  soft  spot  in  the  rock.  Here,  also,  a  rill 
descends  a  few  feet  below  the  shelving  ledge  of  the  summit.  A  cedar  extends  down  its 
elongated  boughs,  which  a  sailor  could  easily  seize,  and  mount  upward.  Here  the  stratum 
is  composed  of  bivalve  shelves,  terebratula?,  and  producti,  with  merely  a  cement  to  unite 
them  together;  and,  a  few  rods  up  the  stream,  there  is  an  extraordinary  interruption  of 
the  strata — a  dendriform  interposition,  which  has  very  much  the  appearance,  as  to  size 
and  form,  of  an  aged  hcinlock  turned  up  by  the  roots,  with  its  trunk  inclining  at  a 
considerable  angle.  From  this,  passing  a  high  projection,  we  come  to  a  place  where  the 
stream  gives  an  exemplification  of  its  manner  of  working  through  the  rock.  The  curva- 
tures here  are  as  regular  as  if  drawn  by  the  compass.  One  of  these  has  been  called  the 
Rocky  Heart,  from  its  perfect  resemblance  to  the  ace  of  hearts.  In  a  flat  rock,  on  the 
same  side,  there  is  a  circular  hole,  called  Jacob's  VV^ell,  which  is  five  feet  deep,  and 
usually  filled  with  stones  of  various  sizes,  worn  perfectly  smooth.  These  are  of  harder 
substance  than  the  lime,  some  of  them  being  granite;  and  the  river  uses  them  as  a 
iiind  of  drilling-machine,  working  them  through  the  soft  stratification.  The  walls,  being 
every  season  penetrated  by  moisture,  are  also  cracked  asunder  by  the  frost  for  an  inch 
or  more;  and  this,  combined  with  the  drilling  process,  produced  the  tremendous  chasm. 
The  passage  beyond  the  Rocky  Heau  is  difficult,  and  even  dangerous;  but  to  the  in- 
trepid it  is  usual  to  ascend  up  to  the  Born's-Bridge  Fall,  where  the  chasm  commences, 
and  where  there  is  the  first  foil.  The  descent  here  is  about  twenty  feet,  and  there  are 
many  beautiful  points  about  it.  But,  after  so  much  of  the  grand,  the  lovely,  and  the 
awful,  the  scenery  here  seems  rather  uninteresting. 

The  visitor  is  not  likely  to  depart  from  Trenton  Falls  without  visiting  a  beautiful 
avenue  of  hemlocks,  near  the  hotel,  known  as  the  "  Lovers'  Walk."  The  bridal  parties 
from  the  East  who  go  to  Niagara  for  their  wedding-tour  commonly  make  Trenton  Falls 
one  of  their  stopping-places;  and  Mr.  Fenn  has  depicted  a  picture,  under  the  shadows 
of  the  hemlocks,  which  the  fine  old  trees  often  witness.  It  is  a  walk,  shadowy,  calm, 
sweet,  and  full  of  a  tender  beauty,  well  designea  to  suit  the  mood  of  lovers.  Wo  trust 
the  illustration  recalls  to  some  of  our  readers  a  personal  and  agreeable  experience. 


\V 


THE    YOSEM  ITE. 


WITH      I  I.  1.  U  S  T  R  A   r  I  ()  N  S      B  Y      J  A  M  E  S      I> .      S  M  I  L  L  I  i 


'FIE  journey  from  the  y\t- 
lantic  to  the  Pacific  is  a 
fitting  introduction  to  the  Vo- 
scmite,  which  most  nobly  crowns 
the  grandest  pleasure-tour  within 
the  limits  of  our  country.  Pal- 
ace, drawing-room,  sleeping,  and 
hotel  cars,  do  not  suggest,  in  title 
ut  least,  the  weariness  of  travel; 
and  the  vast  country  traversed 
l^resents  so  great  a  variety  of  in- 
tercjt  that  all  sense  of  monotony 
is  banished,  as,  day  after  day  and 
night  after  nigiit,  the  sleepless 
engine  rushes  on,  tireless. 

Two  days  and  a  half,  llvinfi 
at  railroad  speed  through  Heilint;: 
landscape,  with  now  and  then  a 
busy  town  or  great,  roaring  city 
— two  niglits  of  hurrying  sleep, 
and  the  journey  from  the  Allan- 
tic  to  the  Missouri  River  is  am- 
plete.  The  great  plains  of  North  America  stretch  away  to  the  west,  seemingly  boundless 
as  the  ocean  ;   a  wild  spirit   of  freedom   breathes  in  the  very  air  that   pipes  and  whistles 


H.ilf-Ilome,  from  llio   Mcrieil   Kiver. 


9P 


from  the  y\t- 
he  Pacific  is  a 
)n  to  the  Vo- 
lt nobly  crowns 
sure-tour  within 

country.  Pal- 
1,  sleepinjj,  and 
suggest,  in  title 
iness  of  travel; 
luntry  traversed 
a  variety  of  in- 
se  of  monotony 
y  after  day  and 
t,  the  sleepless 
tireless. 

d  a  half,  living 
Liirough  (k'((ing 
o\v  and  then  a 
:at,  roaring  city 
hurrying  sKep, 
"rom  the  Allan- 
'i  River  is  com- 
lingly  i)ounilkss 
les  and  whistles 


P 


■ 
1 

T 

IM    -1 


\ 


\c 


^ 


V 


t      I 


THE    YOSEMITE. 


465 


through  the  train,  in  true  nautical  style,  as  the  third  night  folds  its  dark  curtains  over 
tlicsi  limitless  wilds,  and  the  sun  of  the  fourth  morning  rises  upon  the  same  unbroken 
scene.  Then  eome  grand  views  of  the  distant  Rocky  Mountains,  followed  by  the  won- 
der-hind of  the  Green-River  country,  where  cliffs  tower,  wild  and  fantastic  in  form  and 
color.  Farther  on,  the  grim  walls  of  Eclio,  Weber,  Devil's  Gate,  and  Ogden  Gallons, 
echo  and  reecho  the  roar  and  thunder  of  the  intruding  train.  The  VVahsateh  Moun- 
tains are  passed,  and  the  heavy  waters  of  Salt  Lake  rip()le  ami  blaze,  like  burnished 
gold,  in  the  light  of  the  setting  sun.  On  the  morrow,  l)arren,  treeless  mountains,  alkaii- 
(Icscit,  and  sage-brush,  reign  supreme.  Daybreak  of  the  seventh,  and  last  morning,  glad- 
dens tiie  eyes  with  a  sight  of  sturdy  evergreen-forests.  Now  then'  ■■•  but  a  long  down- 
hill to  the  plains  of  Galifornia;  the  character  of  the  forest-gro<  1  uiges ;  iierbage  is 
scant,  and  the  bare  earth  is  red-brown;  the  air  is  hot,  and  has  '  is!  iln  exhilarating  vital- 
ity of  the  morning,  heat  trembles  over  the  plain,  and  soon  '  .  engine  pants  in  the 
seething  crowd  at  Sacramento.  Once  more  under  way,  the  barriers  t)f  successive  folds 
of  the  Goast  Range  are  passed;  and,  at  the  close  of  day,  crossing  the  bay  to  San  Fran- 
cisco, tiie  chill  Pacific  wind  greets  t!ie  Atlantic  traveller,  forcing  him,  with  a  shiver,  to 
draw  close  the  overcoat  that  at  noon  would   have  been  insufferable. 

The  \ Osemite  WiUey  lies  among  the  Sierra  Nevadas  of  Galifornia,  nearly  in  the 
centre  of  the  State,  nt)rth  and  south,  and  midway  between  the  east  and  west  bases  of 
the  mountains,  at  this  point  a  little  over  seventy  miles  wide.  In  a  direct  line  it  is  one 
hundred  and  fifty  miles  almost  due  east  from  San  Francisco,  but  at  present  it  can  lianilv 
he  reached  by  less  than  two  hundred  and  fifty  miles  of  travel.  The  name  is  an  .\ngli- 
cized  (.  corrujUed  form  of  the  Indian  A-hom-e-tae,  which  means  Great  (»ri/zly  Bear,  sup- 
|)()>.ed  to  be  the  title  of  a  chief,  and  applied  generally  to  a  tribe  that  held  jiossession  of 
till  iigion  from  the  valley  to  the  plains  on  the  west.  'Ihat  name,  however,  was  never 
(iiveii  it  by  the  Indians.  They  call  it  .\-wah-nee,  which  finds  its  eipiivaUnt  in  the 
S|)iuusii  canon  or  tlu'  luiglish  chasm. 

i!'.  1.S51  the  miners  and  early  settlers  on  the  Mariposa  estate  were  driven  to  des- 
IHiilinn  iiy  these  tliieving  Indians.  A  military  company  was  organized  to  operate  against 
lluni,  and,  directed  by  Tenaya,  a  friendly  red-skin,  thev  followed  the  tlying  and  aston- 
i>iieil  aborigines  into  their  innermost  hiding-place,  tln'  now  famous  N'osemite.  Ii  was 
tilt  11  lilt'  turn  of  the  white  men  to  be  astonished;  and,  when  the  eompanv  ittunuil  to 
tin  settlements,  marvellous  stories  were  told  of  wh.il  had  been  seen.  This  is  the  stoiv 
(il  the  discovery.  The  Indians  did  not  lay  their  first  lesson  well  to  heart.  Tluv  con- 
tinued their  depredations,  and,  in  eonse(|neiK'e,  another  expedition  chased  them  liom  their 
Mmnghold  the  folhm'ing  year.  They  lied  to  the  |)rotection  of  a  powerful  Iribc,  the 
Miinos,  farther  in  among  the  mountains;  were  hospitably  received  by  them,  luil  betrayed 
tluir  confidence,  and,  in  return,  were  slaughtered  almost  to  the  last  man.  Reports  vary, 
hut  it   is  generally  agretd  tli.it   less  than  half  a  dozen  of  the   Vcseiiiitc  tribe  now  survive 

5» 


><!'■      IMEKS     MAMII'OSA     liHtjVE 


THF.     YOSEMITE.  467 

It  was  not  until  1855  that  the  first  tourists'  visit  was  made  to  the  valley.  Then  a 
|iarty  went  in,  under  the  j^uidance  of  Mr.  J.  M.  Hutcliinpjs.  The  same  season  a  second 
partv  followed ;  next  year  a  trail  was  completed  on  the  Mariposa  side,  and  regular  pleas- 
ure-travel commenced.  The  same  year  ( 1 856)  the  first  house  or  shanty  was  put  up ;  but 
to  Mr.  J-  C.  Lamon  belongs  the  credit  of  being  the  first  actual  settler.  He  built  a 
cal)in,  and  vet  lives  there,  alone,  summer  and  winter. 

In  1S64  Congress  passed  an  act  fixing  the  boundaries,  and  setting  apart,  "for  public 
use,  resort,  and  recreation,"  the  Vosemite  V'alley  and  the  Mariposa  Grove  of  Big  Trees. 
The  State  of  California  was  to  apjjoint  commissioners  and  assume  the  trust,  which  at 
once  she  did,  and  the  people  of  the  United  States  rejoiced  in  their  grand  park.  Claims 
have  been  made  based  upon  the  rights  of  settlers  to  land  in  the  valley,  but  the  courts 
have  decided  adversely  to  them. 

Il  was  one  morning  in  June,  as  bright  as  such  mornings  usually  are,  that  our  little 
part\  started  for  \'osemite.  Taking  cars  on  the  Central  Pacific  Railroad,  we  returned 
nist  eightv  miles  to  Lathrop,  and  then,  on  what  is  known  as  the  Visalia  Division,  turned 
south,  crossing  diagonally  tiie  broad  valley  of  the  San  Joaquin.  The  road  is  now  finished, 
so  that  travellers  may  go  alinost  to  the  foot-hills  of  the  Sierras  by  rail.  We  trundled 
along  in  good  old  style,  with  a  coach-and-six.  The  wheat-harvest  was  already  being 
frathcied,  and  nothing  could  be  more  foreign  to  luistern  eyes  than  the  huge  machinery', 
ham-like  in  dimensions,  drawn  l)y  a  score  of  mules,  "heading"  a  swathe  of  at  least 
fifteen  feet  wide  b'very  thing  was  in  |)!()])orti()n  to  the  vast  fields,  of  thousands  of 
acres  each,  that  hail  to  be  worked  over.  The  heads  only  of  the  wheat  were  cut  olf,  the 
stalks  being  left  for  fcrtili/ation,  or  for  the  cattle  that  are  allowed  to  range,  fall  and  winter, 
ivt  r  tiu'se  fenceless  plains.  Thi'  exact  line  of  our  road  seemed  to  be  largely  a  matter 
nf  will  on  the  part  of  our  driver,  for  lu  drove  wherever  he  |)leased  ;  no  iiarriers  prevented, 
ml  most  of  the  grain  had  been  cut.  No  tree,  or  bush,  or  living  green  thing,  gave 
vilalitv  to  the  landscape.  Through  a  thin,  tremulous  haze,  the  forir  .  of  the  Sierra^  in 
till'  (  and  the  Coast  i^ange  in  the  west,  were  faintly  visible.  The  sky  overheatl  was 
cloudless,  a  deep  violet  tint  pervading,  in  strong  contrast  to  the  earth-tones  of  ochre  and 
orange— a  strange  combination,  blending  duskily  at  the  horizon,  and  in  tint  and  tone 
calling  to  mind  familiar  pictures  of  l''.g)pt,  Syria,  and  the  luist.  .\fter  several  hours'  rid- 
inii,  ex|)osed  to  a  fierce  sun,  the  scene  became  inonotonous,  and  by  degiees  very  tiresome. 
At  1,1st  the  Sierra  forms  loomed  up,  distinct  and  near,  inviting  visions  of  breezv  heights 
ami  refreshing  forest  shadows;  but  hours  t)f  disappoititment  followed,  for,  to  the  toil  of 
climbing  among  the  foot-hills,  was  addec'  the  loss  of  the  Itrcze  th.it  blows  regularly 
iivci  the  plains,  even  though  it  were  a  warm  one.  .Mreadv,  at  this  season,  the  earth  was 
Imuvned ;  herbage  was  scant;  oehre,  umber,  and  sienna-tint^  prevailed;  the  leav<'s  nj  the 
luuLive  were  falling,  crisp  and  drv  ;  ilu^l  eovend  the  glossy  giicn  «-!  tlie  la'autiiul  man- 
/.aiiit.t;   the  (ligger-jiines  stood  samples  of  attenuation;   and,  ovci   all,  pervading  all,  was  a 


468 


PICTURESQUE    AMERICA. 


sentiment  not  so  much  of  decay  as  desiccation.  Homitas,  an  irregular  and  uninteresting 
gatiierinjj  of  huildings,  was  passed ;  and,  from  the  heifjhts  beyond,  the  plains  could  be 
seen  stretchinfj;  in  luminous  obscurity.  Very  gradually  the  barrenness  gave  place  to 
cha|:)aiTals  of  oak,  manzanita,  and  chamiso;  and  trees  clothed  the  crests  of  the  mountain- 
spurs,  after  the  manner  of  forests.  At  last  we  reached  Mariposa,  about  thirty  miles  from 
the  plains  by  the  road  we  travelled,  and  calling  to  memory  only  a  dusty,  hot  street ;  low, 
shabby-looking  l)rick  buildings;  and  surrounding  hills,  that  were  without  an\'  compen- 
sating wildnc'ss  or  beauty  to  excuse  them  for  standing  as  barriers  to  tiie  longed-for 
breezes.  1  lere  the  forests  began  to  assume  a  more  familiar  appearance,  as  oaks  and 
evergreens  clustereil  in  denser  growth.  Ten  or  fifteen  miles  farther  on,  at  an  elevation 
of  more  than  three  thousand  feet,  the  timber  was  superb.  Coniferous  trees  preponder- 
ated, difTerent  varieties  of  oak   being  next   in   importance.      Compared  with  I£asteni-State 

forests,  there  is  very  little  undergrowth,  the  woods 
iiaving  a  singularly  open  appearance,  and  showing 
to  great  advantage  the  noble  sugar-  and  ])itcl)-])iiKs, 
many  of  which  arc  more  than  two  bundled  *(et 
liiglt.  and  from  seven  to  ten  feet  in  diameter.  It 
might  be  fancied  tiiat,  in  forests  where  trees  attained 
such  proportions,  there  woukl  l)e  majestic  solemnitv, 
sylvan  recesses,  depths  profound,  ami  what  not.  On 
the  contrary,  an  air  of  cheerfulness  reigned,  as  the 
sunshine,  streaming  througli,  lighted  into  bright,  warm 


l-.tlli-n    Sc<|Uom. 


THE    YOSEMITE. 


469 


color  the  shaft-like  trunks  of  pitch-pine  and  cedar.  At  Clark's  Ranch,  more  than  fifty 
miles  from  the  plains,  the  carriage-road  ends,  but  it  has  been  surveyed  and  partially  com- 
pleted into  the  Vosemite.  Elere,  then,  the  scant  baggage  was  to  be  transferred  to  the 
backs  of  mules,  and  the  remaining  twenty-four  miles  done  in  the  saddle ;  but,  before  going 
on,  it  is  usual  to  spend  a  day  among  the  big  trees  of  Mariposa,  four  miles  distant,  but 
not  in  the  direction  of  the  Yosemite. 

The  grant  of  the  Mariposa  Grove  covers  four  sections,  or  two  miles  square,  and  is 
under  the  charge  of  the  Yosemite  commissioners.  The  first  that  was  known  of  the  big 
trees  was  in  the  spring  of  1852,  when  a  hunter  discovered  what  is  now  called  the  Calaveras 


III 


;( 


Bridal-Vcil    Kail. 


drove.  He  could  get  no  one  to  believe  his  story,  and  had  to  resort  to  a  trick  to  get  any 
1)1  his  companions  to  go  with  him  to  the  Inis,  so  as  to  verifv  his  statements.  Once  veri- 
fied, descriptions  were  widelv  published,  and.  from  San  I'rancisco  |)apers,  co|)ied  into  Kng- 
li^li  prints.  In  i<S5_;  an  I'nglish  botanist  pui)lishi'd  a  scientific  description,  and  designated 
till  tree  as  the  ]]'i//tiii;toiiiti  j^/'x'^au/cn.  In  1854  an  eminent  I'Vench  botanist,  M.  Decaisne, 
;il  a  meeting  of  the  "  Soeiete  Hotanicpie  de  France,"  presented  sp»'cimcns  of  the  big  trees 
iiiui  redwood  that  he  had  received  from  the  consular  agent  of  i'ranee  at  San  Francisco. 
ll(  e.xplained  at  length  his  reas(ms  for  considering  the  big  tree  and  redwo:Kl  as  belong- 
iiii:  to  the  same  species.  Sequoia,  an  aflinity  the  Fnglish  liotanist  had  overlooked;  so,  in 
adordanee  with  the   rules  of   botanical  nomenclature,  the  new  sj)ecies  was  called  Sequoia 


470 


PICTURESQUE    AMERICA. 


gigantea.  Professor  Whitney,  State  Gcolopjist  of  California  (upon  whose  faithful  work 
I  have  drawn  liberally),  says:  "It  is  to  the  happy  accident  of  the  generic  agreement  of 
the  big  tree  with  the  redwood  that  we  owe  it  that  we  are  not  obliged  to  call  the 
largest  and  most  interesting  tree  of  America  after  an  Tlnglish  military  hero.  Had  it 
been  an  English  botanist  of  the  highest  eminence,  the  dose  would  not  have  been  so 
unpalatable."  (Sequoia,  it  will  be  remembered,  was  the  name  of  the  Cherokee  Indian 
who,  early  in  this  century,  invented  an  alphabet  and  written  language  for  his  tribe.)  So 
far  as  is  yet  known,  there  are  but  eight  distinct  patches  or  groves  of  the  big  trees. 
They  are  very  limited  in  range,  and  seem  to  belong  exclusively  to  California.  Tluy 
form  groves,  largely  intermi.xed  with  other  trees,  very  little  below  five  thousand  and 
never  over  seven  thousand  feet  above  sea -level.  They  have  been,  without  difficulty, 
largely  propagated  from  the  seed,  and  fine  specimens  are  now  growing  in  many  parts  of 
America  and  Europe.  A  few  miles  south  of  the  Mariposa  Grove,  tiie  Sequoias  seein  to 
find  a  more  congenial  home,  and  may  be  found  of  all  ages  and  sizes,  from  the  seediinir 
up.  A  mill,  at  this  place,  saws  them  into  lumber.  Professor  Whitney  closes  his  very 
interesting  chapter  by  saying:  "The  big  tree  is  not  that  wonderfully  exceptional  tiiin^r 
which  po[)ular  writers  have  almost  always  descrilied  it  as  being.  It  is  not  so  restricted 
in  its  range  as  some  other  conifer;e  of  (California.  It  occurs  in  great  abundance,  of  all 
ages  and  sizes,  and  there  is  no  reason  to  suppose  that  it  is  now  dying  but,  or  that  it 
belongs  to  a  past  geological  era,  an\'  more  than  the  redwood. 

"The  age  of  the  big  trees  is  not  so  great  as  that  assigneil  by  the  highest  authorities 
to  some  of  the  English  yews.  Neither  is  its  height  as  great,  by  far,  as  that  of  an  Aus- 
tralian species,  the  Eucalyf>tus  aiiiygdaltna,  many  of  which  have,  on  the  authority  of  Dr. 
Miiller,  the  eniiiunt  goverinnent  botanist,  been  found  to  measure  over  four  hundred  lect." 
The  tallest  Siu/noia  that  has  been  measured  is  in  the  Calaveras  (Vrove,  being  three  hun- 
dred and  twenty-five  feet  high,  overtopping  Trinity-Church  spire  (a  standard  of  \\A\i\\\ 
familiar  to  most  New-Vorkers)  by  forty  feet.  The  greatest  in  diameter  is  the  "(iriz/lv 
(iiant"  in  the  Mariposa  Grove,  which  ineasures  thirty-one  feet  through  at  the  ground, 
and  twenty  feet  at  eleven  feet  above  the  ground.  Clarence  King  tlescribed  one  that  iu' 
saw  in  the  forest  some  miles  south  of  Mariposa,  "a  slowly-tapering,  regularlv  ritund  eol- 
umn,  of  about  forty  feet  in  diameter  at  the  base,  and  rising  two  hundred  and  sevcntv- 
four  feet."  A  verv  large  trei-  in  the  Calaveras  Grove,  twenty-four  feet  in  diameter,  was, 
after  much  labor,  cut  down,  and  the  base,  at  six  feet  from  the  ground,  was  smoothed 
and  prepared  as  a  dancing-lloor ;  thirty  feet  farther  up,  the  trunk  was  again  cut  throut;ii, 
and  the  rings,  marking  the  growth  of  each  year,  were  carefullv  counted.  Upon  this  evi- 
dence, after  making  allowances  and  calculations.  Professor  Torrev  i)ronounced  the  tree 
about  thirteen  hundred  years  nid.  It  is  not  likely  that  any  now  standing  are  much 
older. 

The  ride  fiom  (lark's  Ranch  to  the  grove' is  less  than  four  miles;  so,  after  an  earlv 


THH    YOSEMITE. 


471 


r  but,  or  that   il 


breakfast,  \vc  started  for  a  day  of  picnic  and  sketching.  The  trail  was  well  worn  and 
easy,  the  air  gioriously  pure,  and  the  forest  deliglitful.  It  would  he  useless  to  attempt  to 
desciihe  the  confusion  of  sentiment  and  impatience  that  possessed  me  as  1  rode  along, 
|)t'criii,t;  anxiously  through  the  labyrinth  of  the  wood  for  the  first  glimpse  into  the  vast 
pori.ils  of  that  grand  old  grove.  Memory  recalled  the  solemn  gloom  of  a  hemlock-for- 
est among  the  Catskill  Mountains — if  that  was  dark,  then  surely  this  must  i)e  savage — 
if  tliat  was  solemn,  then  this  must  be  a^"ful !  To  me,  the  sighing  of  summer  breezes 
through  those  high  tops  would  be  the  ghostly  echo  of  wild  storms  that  had  done 
lialtle  with  them  for  hundreds  of  years.  Inarticulate  with  the  lore  of  dcail  ages, 
their  moans  would  breathe  the  sad  history  of  centuries  past ;  their  towering  heads,  with 
scarce  perceptible  nod,  would  tell  of  Goths  and  \'andais  that  scourged  Eurojje  when 
thc\'  were  young ;  of  King  Arthur  and  "  his  table  round,"  while  yet  tiiey  were  in  the 
vigor  of  early 'maturity;  and  of  Mohammed  and  Ins  wars,  written  ujion  the  page  of  his- 
tory, before  their  limbs  creaked  with  age.  They 
niigiif  whisper  something  of  lost  races  on  this 
continent,  or  of  the  advent  of  the  red-man  ;  to 
them  Columbus  would  be  a  matter  of 
vtsterday,  and  our  dear  Revolutionary 
War  a  scarce  noticeable  thing  of  to-day. 
The   guide    shouts. 


biu  tree!' 


What 


so,  after  an  early 


Vallty    Huoi,  Willi    \  lew   ot  CalliL-Uni)    Spires. 


472 


PIC  TURJiSQ  UE    A  ME  RICA . 


the  sacred  precincts  ?  Where  is  the  atmospiiere  of  awe  ?  where  the  elements  that  were  to 
hush  the  voice,  and  fill  the  whole  l)einfr  with  reverential  exaltation?  Alas!  there  was  tlic 
first  hip  tree,  sunlif;ht  sparkling  all  over  its  great  cinnamon-colored  trunk,  and  I  was  ready 
to  shout,  and,  spurring  my  prosaic  beast,  to  rush  with  the  rest  in  a  graceless  scramble  to  l)e 
first  to  reach  his  majesty's  foot.  The  charm  was  broken.  I  was  willing,  anxious  (o  lie 
deeply  moved,  but  no  answering  emotion  came — such  moods  do  nt)t  come  at  the  l)i(j- 
ding.  l^nsought,  they  have  welled  up  since  at  thougiit  of  that  day — but  not  then  ;  no, 
not  then,  I  had  built  an  ideal  grove,  and  at  first  sight  it  was  demolished,  but  that  was 
no  fault  of  the  Mariposa  big  trees.  There  was  no  gloomily  grand  grove,  there  weiv  no 
profound  recesses;  the  great  trees  stood  widely  apart,  with  many  ])ines  and  firs  inter- 
spersed, and  sunlight  streamed  down  liirough  all  and  over  all.  I  wandered  ab,)ut,  sorely 
disajipointed  that  they  did  not  look  bigger,  and  yet  every  sense  told  me  that  they  were 
vast  beyond  any  tiling  thai  1  had  ever  seen ;  and  it  was  not  until  after  I  had  been 
among  them  for  hours,  and  luul  sketched  two  or  three,  tliat  tlieir  true  proportions 
loomed  upon  my  understanding.  Then  I  wondered  at  the  j)ractical  man  who  was 
"pacing-otT  "  the  diameter  of  the  "Grizzly  Giant,"  and  at  the  woman  of  little  faith,  who 
bad  brought  with  her  a  piece  of  twine  to  verify  the  oft-told  '-tory  of  size.  It  is  hardly 
|iossible  to  form  a  just  idea  of  size  or  height  until,  getting  at  a  distance  where  the 
wiiole  tree  may  be  seen,  a  mounted  figure  takes  position  at  the  base,  thus  establisliinjj 
an  initial  jjoint  for  computation.  In  ibrm  they  are  often  savagely  gaunt,  their  respiratory 
apparatus  of  foliage  being  in  remarkably  small  proportion  to  their  tower-like  trunks. 
The  bark  is  very  light  and  fiijrous,  like  the  outer  sheatii  of  a  cocoa-nut,  of  a  singular 
cinnamon-color,  and  running  in  great  ridges  tiiat  vary  from  ten  inches  to  three  kit 
in  thickness.  Some  trunks  a])pear  i|uite  smooth,  i)ut  others  are  warted  and  gnarled  as 
though  wearing  the  wrinkles  of  great  age.  The  Indians  and  siieep-herders  have  Ihtii 
accustomed  every  year  to  burn  the  undergrowth  througii  the  woods,  and  by  this  |ir:ic 
tice,  now  strictly  prohibited,  most  of  the  trees  in  the  Mariposa  Grove  have  birn  injuiiil, 
a  few  but  slightly;  i)ul,  in  many  cases,  soundness  and  beauty  have  been  siriouslv  im- 
paired. On  an  area  of  thirty-seven  hundred  by  twentv-three  hundred  feel  thirc  irc 
just  three  hundred  and  sixty-five  Sequoias  of  a  diameter  of  one  foot  or  over,  iiut  not 
more  than  twentv  are  over  twenty  feel  in  diameter.  Two  or  three,  greater  than  anv 
tliat  stand,  now  lie  prone  and  bioken ;  the  trail  lies  through  tlie  hollow  section  of  onr 
that  has  fdlen  and  been  burned  out.  .Vn  ordinary-sized  man,  sitting  upon  a  horse,  ean 
but  just  touch  with  bis  knuckles  the  blackened  arch  (»verliead. 

The  afternoon,  rieii  in  contrasts  of  glowing  lights  and  liroad  shadows,  too  '|uiekly 
followed  l!ie  inipiisitive  glari'  of  noonday  sun;  pictures  in  elfect  and  color  |)resenleil 
themselves  where,  an  hour  bifore,  there  had  iieen  oul.  a  coi. fusion  of  peltv  forms,  sIi.m|) 
and  s'ladov.less,  under  the  almost  perpendicular  rays  of  sunlight;  the  novelty  of  lii'^t 
acquaintance  was  wearing  olT,  and   the  true  gr.mdeur  of  proportions  was  developint;  with 


■Ill 


ts  that  were  to 
!  there  was  the 
md  I  was  ie;ulv 
scramble  to  he 
anxious  to   be 
mc  at  the  liid- 
not   tlieii ;    no, 
1,  but  that  was 
tlicre  were  no 
and    firs    inler- 
:d   about,  sorely 
that  they  were 
ter   I    had   been 
rue    proportions 
man    who   was 
little   tiiith,  who 
e.      It  is  hardiv 
ance  where  the 
bus  cstablishinsi 
their  respiratory 
wer-like   trunks, 
t,  of  a  singular 
s    to    three    teii 
and  fjnarled  as 
lers   have   linn 
(1    by   this  iirae 
e  bi'en  injuivd, 
n    siaiouslv   iin- 
t'eet    there   are 
over,  but    not 
reater  than  anv 
section   of  one 
on   a   horse,  can 

)ws,  loo  'luieUlv 
eiilor    |)resentiil 

•Itv  forms,  sharp 
novelty  of  lirst 
(ievehtpin^  with 


CATHEDRAL     SIMHES 


•0 


474 


PIC rURESQ UE    AMERICA. 


foscinatiii<T  nipidit)'.  The  spirit  was  groaning  within  nic  tliat  pencil  and  color  in  my 
hands  were  so  weak,  wlien  through  the  liiish  came  tlie  faintest  niutterings  of  distant 
thunder.  The  rest  of  the  party  iiad  gone,  and  witli  them  the  j)icnic  element.  I  was 
alone,  antl  the  liooming  of  the  rapidly-nearing  storm,  as  its  echoing  waves  of  siiiincj 
rolled  thnnigh  the  pillared  forest  that  seemed  to  stand  dumbly  expectant,  was  to  mc  tlu' 
grand  original,  of  wiiich  grimly-solemn  cathedral  and  deepest  organ-note  are  but  a  type, 
Threatening  clouds  darkened  the  sky,  a  few  great  drops  of  rain  adding  emphasis  to  the 
warning.  1  lastily  gathering  my  scattered  scrai)s,  I  retreated,  but  not  without  a  last, 
hungry,  devouring  look.  Now  there  is  pictured  in  memory  a  mighty  shadowed  forest, 
its  branches  moving  uneasily,  antl  sighing  as  the  storm  sweeps  torrent-like  through  it. 

As  has  been  already  stated,  Clark's  Ranch  is  the  present  end  of  the  carriage-road, 
and  the  beginning  of  the  bridle-path  into  the  Voscmite,  which  is  only  twelve  miles  dis- 
tant in  a  direct  line,  although  nearly  twice  that  by  the  trail.  Its  altitude  is  about  four 
thousand  feet,  being  a  little  higher  than  the  lloor  of  the  valley,  but  between  it  and  the 
valley  lies  an  ele\ation  that  must  be  crossed,  which  is  about  three  thousand  five  luiiidnd 
feet  in  height,  nearly  equal  to  the  average  of  the  Catskill  Mountains,  the  highest  point 
reached  in  crossing  being  seven  thousand  four  hundred  feet  above  the  sea.  Here  arc 
barns  and  stables,  a  saw-mill,  and  several  long,  low,  irregular  one-story  houses,  with  char- 
acteristic arrangci  i  of  verandas,  upon  which  open  all  the  doors  and  windows,  there 
being  no  passages  or  hall-ways  in  the  buildings.  Guides,  hunters,  and  dogs,  loiter  about; 
horses  wait  in  groups,  saddled  and  bridled ;  uneasy  travellers  flit  from  house  to  house, 
and  an  air  (jf  l)usiness  generally  possesses  the  place,  in  spite  of  the  close,  hedging,  licavv 
timber,  that  brings  the  air  of  the  jnimeval  wilderness  to  the  very  doors. 

(Jur  scant  luggage  was  securely  packed  for  the  ride,  and  early  in  the  morning  the 
horses  were  brougiit  out— ;^a  dejected-looking  lot,  each  with  a  rope-halter  about  its  neck, 
giving  more  the  appearance  of  so  many  candidates  for  the  gallows  than  toilers  for  a 
pleasure-party.  It  was  interesting  to  watch  the  packing  of  the  load  upon  the  mule's 
back,  the  curiously-intricate  cording  and  strapping,  and  then  the  final  binding  of  iieast 
and  burden  into  one  insei)arable  mass.  Two  strong  men  laid  hold  of  the  ropes,  the  pas- 
sive m.ule  between  them,  and  pulled  as  though  striving  each  to  outdo  the  other.  Could 
toughenetl  hide  or  bony  framework  resist }  The  brute  made  no  sign.  They  placed  each 
a  foot  agais'st  th*  pack,  and  their  weight  was  added  to  their  muscle  for  one  final  elTort ; 
a  faint  ugh.  I  came  from  the  stolid  creature,  and  a  crunching  sounil,  as  of  a  great  eg<;- 
shell  in  collapse,  lold  me  thai  my  sketeh-bo.\  had  come  to  grief;  but  no  mailer,  then 
was  no  time  to  stop  for  trllles;  a  heavy  hand  took  hold  upon  the  top  of  the  pack,  vij,;- 
orously  shook  it — the  mule  vibrated  as  though  it  were  part  and  parcel.  "He  must  t:ei 
out  of  his  skin  before  he  can  get  out  of  that,"  said  the  guide,  and  he  was  started  on 
the  trail. 

It  is  iiot  necessaiy  to  go  all   the  wav  to  the  Vosemite  to  enjoy  the   picturesrpii'  el- 


THE     YOSEMITE. 


475 


1   color  ill  my 
ngs   of   distant 
cmcnt.      1  was 
avcs   of   sound 
was  to  mc  tlu' 
are  but  a  type, 
.'inphasis  to  the 
without    a    last, 
hadowcd   forest, 
I  tliroiijih  it. 
le  carriapjc-road, 
kvclve   miles  dis- 
le  is  about   lour 
kvcen  it  and  the 
lid  five  hundrul 
10  highest  jjoiiit 
sea.      Here  arc 
3USCS,  with  char- 
l  windows,  there 
)gs,  loiter  about; 
house  to    house. 
,  hedging,  heavy 

tiie  morning  the 

about   its  iieek, 

an    toilers  for  a 

wyow    the  mule's 
inding  of  lieast 

e  ro|)es,  the  jias- 

10  other.  C'ouM 
iiey  placed  eacli 
one  final  olTort : 
of  a  great  ci,w- 
iio  matter,  there 
)f  the  pack,  vitr- 
"  1  le  nuisl  i;ei 
e  was  started  on 

0    picturesque  ef- 


fects of  a  partv  of  pleasure-seekers,  en  route.  The  gay  colors  that  inevitably  find  place, 
the  grouping,  action,  light  and  shade  in  constantly-changing  combination  with  the  sur- 
rounchng  landscape,  are  a  never-failing  source  of  pleasure.  Now,  in  bright  sunligiit,  every 
spot  of  color  tells  with  intensest  power  against  a  mass  of  sombre  green  ;  again,  in  the 
deep   shadow  of  a    wood,  thev  form    vet    deeper    shadows,  and   their  richer  color  darkens 


St'tUinfl    Rock   ami    hail 


apainst  the  light  beyond.  Crossing  an  open  sjiace,  how  a  white  horse  with  red-shirted 
rider  puts  a  climax  upon  all  that  there  is  of  light  and  color;  or,  straggling  over  an  u|i- 
land  waste  of  blinding-white  granite-sand,  bow  invaluable  to  the  ])ieturc  the  strong  relief 
of  I  he  black  mule  and  his  grotestjuo  pack!  vSo  we  spent  the  morning,  crossing  streams 
and  climbing  hill-sides,  thankful  for  the  cool,  fragrant  shadow  of  dark  pines,  and  rejoicing 


m 


476 


PICTURIiSOUh:    AMERICA, 


Scnlincl  Uock  from  the  Noilli. 


iiig  into  long  vi^^tas  licdgcd  witli 
close -standing  fir-trocs.  Now 
and  then  a  l)road  waste  of  rock 
had  to  be  passed,  and  several  times,  from  iieights,  we  had  views  of  the  high  Sierra  piaks. 
It  was  soon  after  nf>on  when  we  reached  Faregoy's,  a  cattle-ranch  and  half-way  lioiisc. 
Meadows,  covered  with  natural  grasses,  following  the  course  of  running  streams,  stretched 
for  miles  in  narrow  belts,  where  great  numbers  of  horses  and  cattle  roamed  and  found  ])ast- 
ure.  VV^e  were  surprised  by  a  remarkably  good  dinner,  although  the  request  for  a  l)oile(l 
egg  could  not  be  complied  with — twenty  minutes  of  trying  |)roved  an  utter  failure ;  we  were 
a  little  over  seven  thousand  feet  "  up  in  the  world,"  where  eggs  do  not  observe  the  "three 
and  a  half  minute"  rule  as  they  do  upon  lower  levels.  It  was  not  long  before  we  wen' 
again  mounted  and  on  the  way,  impatient  to  get  over  the  five  miles  that  intervened  l)c'- 
tween  us  antl  Inspiration  Point.  If,  the  day  before,  we  rode  in  the  excitement  of  ex  lac- 
tation, it  was  intensified  now;  every  ste|)  brought  us  nearer  to  a  place  that  hitherto  liad 
been  to  me  like  some  crater  in  the  moon  or  spot  on  the  sun.  There  was  no  doubt  as 
to  its  existence,  but  it  l)elonged  to  tlie  realm  of  fancy,  now  to  l)e  transferred  to  tin  iral 
— a  change  almost  dreaded.     It  is  dangerous  work  to  force  our  ideals  from  fancy  to  lict, 


II 


THE    yosr.MiTE. 


477 


from  poetry  to  prose.  I  knew  it,  and  these  questions  were  constantly  repeated:  Was 
grim  disappointment  waitinjr?  were  tlie  senses  to  be  l)enuml)e(l  on  that  dizzy  height? 
would  every  line  and  every  color  harmonize  to  produce  an  etTect  overwiielminfj  ?  At 
hisl,  through  the  trees,  there  jj;leamed  a  |)ale,  mist-like  whiteness — it  must  l)e  a  wall  of 
rock — could  that  he  the  hrst  sight  into  the  valley?  The  pulse  (juickened,  the  hard  sad- 
dle and  the  shabby  shamble  of  the  ofTending  beasl  underneath  were  forgotten,  as  he 
forced  himself  into  (juicker  gait  in  answer  to  impatient  drubiiings  ;  a  few  moments  more, 
and  we  rode  out  to  a  clear  space  under  pine-trees,  where  every  evidence  was  presented 
of  the  many  feet  that  had  halted  there  before  us ;  so,  following  their  indications,  and  the 
unmistakable  suggestions  of  our  prosaic  beasts,  we  alighted,  and  fastened  them  to  well- 
worn  branches  of  |iine  or  manzanita.  A  few  yards  only  of 
chaparral  intervened  between  us  and  the  clilT — a  rush  and  a 
bound — in  a  moment  our  feet  were  upon  lns])iration  Point, 
and —  Mr.  Clarence  King,  for  whose  descriptive  powers  1 
have  great  admiration,  says:  "1  always  go  swiftly  by  (his  fa- 
mous point  of  \  iew  now,  feeling  somehow  that  I  don't  belong 
to  that  army  of  literary  travellers  who  have  here  planted  them- 
selves and  burst  into  rhetoric.  Here  all  who  make  California 
books,  down  to  the  last  and  most  sentimental  specimen  who 
so  much  as  meditates  a  letter  to  his  or  her  local  paper,  dis- 
mount and  inflate." 

Warned  by  the  lateness  of  the  hour,  and  that  we  had  yet 


Kock  Slide. 


4-8 


PICTURESQUE    AMERICA. 


seven  miles  to  ride  before  we  could  reach  tiic  nearest  house,  we  again  mounted  our  horses, 
and  commenced  the  descent,  nearly  three  thousand  feet  in  three  miles,  over  a  very  tortuous 
trail,  rockv  or  dusty  In  turns,  extremelv  tiresome  to  the  wearie;!  iioily,  hut  never  dangerous, 
there  being  no  cliffs  or  jirecipices  such  as  formed  the  grand  picture  constantly  before  us. 
l^ine-trees.  more  or  less  dense,  sheltered  the  ua\- ;  and  the  scenery  was  enough  to  lilt  any 
one,  not  hopelessly  dead  or  unobservant,  far  above  the  petty  discomforts  of  sa<ldle  or  tr.iil. 
Every  change  of  position  presented  some  new  charm  trees  grouped  into  picturescpie  foR'- 
grounds,  finding  bold  relief  in  light  and  shade  agamst  the  opal  and  amethyst  tints  of 
distant  granite  cliffs ;  flowers  nodding  in  the  breeze  that  brought  refreshment  to  the  brow 
and  music  to  the  ear;  and  little  streams  dimpling  and  gurgling  across  the  trail,  as  if  un- 
conscious of  tiie  terrible  lea|)S  that  must  be  taken  before  leaching  the  river  below.  In 
strong  contrast  to  this  living,  moving  beauty,  l)eyond  all,  the  walls,  towers,  and  domes 
of  the  ^'osemite  rose  grand,  serene,  impassive,  broadly  divided  into  tenderest  sliadow  and 
sweetest  sunlighr,  giving  no  impression  of  cold,  imi)lacable.  unyielding  granite,  but  of 
majesty,  to  whieli  our  hearts  went  out  as  readily  as  to  the  llnv.ers  and  brooks  at  our 
feet.  As  v.e  appio\ched  the  lev,  of  the  valley  and  the  o|)en  meadows,  the  groves  (if 
trees  aiul  the  win  ling  river  were  more  distinctly  seen— the  glorious,  park-like  character 
of  the  place  piesentetl  itself  Wbv  not  cultivate  carefully  these  natural  beauties— mai<( 
lawns  of  the  meadows,  trim  out  the  woods  that  tin-  different  trees  may  develo])  their 
fullest  form,  aiul  control  the  river's  course  with  grass-grown  banks.-'  At  last,  the  foot  of 
the  descent  was  reached,  and  away  we  cantered  in  the  evening  shades,  the  black-ll,lk>^ 
lacing  their  branches  overhead.  Trees,  bending  in  graceful  framework,  enclosed  varioi^ 
pictures,  one  of  the  most  charniing  being  a  view  of  the  Ibidal-veil  [-"all  as  it  sprniii; 
(tver  th('  wall  nine  hundred  feet  high.  Its  upper  part  'sparkled  a  moment  in  the  sun- 
light, a  solid  body;  then,  a-,  though  wrestling  with  invisible  sjiiiits,  it  swept  into  a  wilii 
swirl  of  sj)ray  that  eame  eddying  down  in  soil  mists  and  formless  showers.  I-'mergini; 
from  the  wood,  a  broad  mi-adow  lav  before  ii^ ;  and  high  over  all  pioji'cted.  fu  wy 
against  the  eastern  sky,  the  Cathedral  Rocks,  with  buttresses  cool  and  spires  aglow.  Ai 
their  foot  tb<  liver  crowds  so  cio^e  that  the  trail  is  forced  to  find  its  wa\  Ihnuij.;!)  ,i 
wilderness  of  great  granite  blocks,  that  lie  embowered  in  a  foiist  whiih  has  grown  sinn 
they  were  hurled  from  their  places  on  the  cliffs  above.  Then  followed  a  long  level,  ami 
groves  of  piiu'  and  eedai.  .After  the  fatigiu-  and  excitement  of  the  dav,  it  was  liKi 
entering  a  sanctuary,  the  spirit  of  the  place  was  so  solemn  and  lull  of  rest.  Theri'  wi- 
no  senti;nent  of  gloom,  but  rather  o,  deep,  slumberous  repose;  (he  thick  carpeting  "I 
•^ienna-coloied  pine-spindlcs  that  covered  the  ground  hushed  each  foot-fall;  the  pill.iidl 
tree-trunks  formed  vistas  that  stretched,  like  "long-drawn  aisles."  to  profoundest  forest- 
depths,  the  branches,  "intricately  crossed,"  did  not  obscuie  tin  luminous  sky  above,  oi 
hide  the  i.ill  ealhedral-s|nres  that  butiuil  luddv  in  the  last  gleam  of  day;  rrfreshnuiil 
and  invigoration  were  in  the  veiy  atmosphere;  with  tha..!;lulness,  my  whole  being  diank 


THli    YOSEMITIi. 


479 


deeply,  and,  when   in   ihe  <irav  of  i-venin^  tiic  hotel  was  readied.  1   was  cool,  calm,  and — 
veiv  hunfrry. 

The  lirst  week  after  our  arrival  was  spent  makinjj  acquaintance  with  the  more  com- 
niuii  points  of  interest  and  attraction.  At  lirst,  suliinittin<r  to  the  guides,  we  rode  in 
hcaten  paths,  and  wondered  and  admired  according  to  regulation  ;  but,  after  a  day  or 
two,  such  bonds  became  irksome,  and  we  ranged  at  will,  there  being  really  no  need  of 
a  guide  in  an  enclosure  six  miles  long  and  at  most  but  a  mile  and  a  half  wide — no 
need  of  any  one  to  direct  attention  to  what  the  eyes  could  hardly  fail  to  see,  (.)r  the 
senses  discover  for  themselves ;  and,  then,  it  was  so  much  more  delightful  to  wander  un- 
directed and  unattended,  on  horseback  or  on  foot,  regardless  of  conventional  ways,  and 
vielding  unreservedly  to  each  new  enjoyment.  We  soon  knew  each  meadow  autl  the 
separating  groves  of  trees,  every  stream  and  every  ford  across  the  river.  Within  the 
limits  we  n'P'/ed  there  are  but  eleven  hundred  and  forty-one  acres  of  level  bottom, 
according  to  government  reports — a  surface  only  about  one-third  greater  tiian  that  of 
the  Central   Park  of  New-\'ork  City — and  of  this  seven  hundred  and  forty-five  acres  are 

meadow,  the  rest  being  covered  with  trees  and  di'hris  of 
rock,     (•'rom  Tenaya  Cafion,  at  the  upper  end  of  the  val- 

a 

.•ry 
ring. 


l-IKJi     1)1     ^Clllli 


lull 


II 


48o 


PIC  TURESQ LIE    AMERICA. 


caused  by  melting  snows  anion<r  tlie  mountains  beyond.  The  meadows  arc  covered  with 
coarse,  scant  grass;  and  innumerable  Mowers,  generally  of  exceeding  delicacy,  find  choicest 
beds  in  slight  depressions,  where  the  water  lies  longest.  Through  these  meadows  the 
Merced  River  winds  fn)m  side  to  side,  during  the  summer  an  orderly  stream,  averagiiiir, 
maybe,  seventy  or  eighty  feet  in  width,  the  cold  snow-water  shimmering  in  beautiful  em- 
erald greens  as  it  Hows  over  the  granite-sand  of  the  bottom.  Its  banks  are  fringed  with 
alder,  willow,  poplar,  cotton-wood,  and  evergreens;  upon  the  meadow-level  are  grouped,  in 
groves  more  or  less  dense,  pines,  cedars,  and  oaks,  the  latter  often  bearing  large  growiiis 
of  mistletoe;  upon  the  rock-talus,  mingling  with  the  pines  and  firs,  the  live-oak  is  a  dis- 
tinctive feature;  higher,  and  clinging  in  crevices  and  to  small  patches  of  soil,  the  jnuignit 
bay  and  evergreen  oak  form  i)aleiies  of  verdure.  From  the  foot  of  Sentinel  Fall  an 
excellent  view  may  l)e  had  of  tin-  meadows,  the  groves,  the  river,  and  the  slopes  at  the 
fool   of  the  walls  of  roik  on  cither  hand.      On  the  rigiu    is    El   Capitan,  three   thousand 

three  hundred  feet  high;  on  the  left  are  the  Cathedral  Kocks, 
nearly  two  thousiu  •!  seven  hundred  feet  in  height — the  two 
foriiiing  what  may  be  called  the  siuther.-  gale  to  the  valley. 
Each  of  our  illustrations,  it  is  intendid,  shall  |)resenl  ^mnr 
characteristic  feature  of  the  valley.  The  opening  lut  v  i 
selected  from  manv  similar  views  at  the  upper  end  of  ilir 
\ali.  wheie  t  ht'  pim-li  cs  •(;;ne  down  to  the  river's  t  dge, 
and  ari'  mirroicd  in  ibe  still  pools.  Washington  ('(iliinui, 
inori'  tiian  two  thoiKimd  icet  high,  Mauds  out  «n  ihi  left, 
eastiny    an    ;iri(inoon    sliadnw    will    up    on    lli>     Hank    nl    il.( 


Votemiii-  l-ull  111(1  Mcttiil  Kivn. 


ii 


THE    YOSEMITE. 


481 


Half-dome,  whose  sumniit  is  almost  five  thousand  feet  above  the  river,  or  nine  thousand 
I'eit  above  the  sea.  The  distant  view  of  the  spires  may  serve  to  tell  the  story  of  the 
hroail,  tree-covered  levels,  so  charming  for  scampers  on  horseback,  and  of  the  prisoning 
walls  that  are  witliout  suggestion  of  imprisonment.  The  spires  are  forms  of  splintered 
oraiiite,  about  five  hundred  fee.  in  height,  and  altogether  not  less  than  two  thousand 
ti't't  above  the  valley.  Sentinel  Rock  combines  more  of  picturesquencss  and  grandeur, 
perhaps,  than  any  other  rock-mass  in  the  valley,  its  obelisk-like  top  reaching  a  height 
of  over  three  thousand  feet,  the  face-wall  l)eing  almost  vertical.  The  view  from  the 
11(11 1 h  is  taken  from  a  point  about  midway  between  the  foot  of  Vosemite  Fall  and 
Winhington  Column ;  the  other  is  from  a  point  as  far  south  of  it,  presenting  an  en- 
linh  (lilTerent  aspect,  its  stupendous  proportions  dwarfing  into  littleness  every  thing  at 
its  base.  Tlu'  fall  at  the  right,  as  shown  in  the  illustration,  exists  only  in  the  spring,  as 
it  depends  entirely  u|ion  the  melting  snow  for  its  sujiply.  That  its  force  and  volume  at 
li.ius  must  be  teirifie,  is  evident  from  the  gorge  that  it  has  hollowed  at  its  foot.  It  is 
larlv  that  such  exhibitions  of  deslruetive  energy  can  be  found.  The  climb  up  this 
water-torn  gully  ends  all  dreams  of  a  well-ordered  park  below  Torrents  pour  into  the 
valuv  as  soon  as  \\\v  snow  begins  to  melt,  leaping  the  cliffs  witli  indescribable  fury,  car- 
iMiig  immense  rocks  and  great  quantities  of  coarse  granite-sand,  to  work  destruction  as 
till  V  spread  their  burden  over  the  level  ground.  In  some  places,  this  detritus  has  been 
(i(|ii)siteil  to  the  depth  of  several  feet  in  a  single  spring.  The  air  then  is  filled  with  the 
roaring  of  waterfalls;  the  greater  portion  of  the  valley  is  overflowed;  and  the  wayward 
.Ml  iced  cuts  lor  itsUf  luw  channels,  making  wide  waste  in  the  change.  At  such  times, 
ilic  N'osemitc  bail  is  described  as  grand  lie\oiid  all  power  of  expression.  The  summit 
III  the  upper  fall  is  a  little  over  two  thousand  si.x  hundred  feet  above  the  vallev ;  for 
litin  n  humh(d  feci  flic  desecnt  is  .disolutely  vertical,  and  the  rock  is  like  a  wall  of 
nia-t»iirv.  Bel'on'  this,  tin-  lali  of  water  swavs  and  sweeps,  yielding  to  the  force  of  the 
liihil  wiiiil  with  a  marvellous  giaci-  and  endless  varietv  of  motion.  For  a  moment  it 
ItMciids  with  continuous  roar;  in  anoliiei  iii'^tant  it  is  caught,  and,  reversing-  its  flight, 
lie--  upward  in  wieathing,  eddying  mists,  lin.dly  fading  out  like  a  sunnner  cloud.  The 
full-page  illustration  is  t.d<en  from  a  elum|t  of  pine-trees  so  iie.n  that,  li\  the  lapid 
liiresliortening,  the  entire  I, ill  ,i|)peais  in  \ci\-  dill'erenl  |iropoitions  Iroin  tlio'-e  m-(  11  l;om 
tlu  opposite  side  of  till'  valle\'.  Such  a  glimj)se  is  giv<Mi  in  the  illustration  "  Indians 
lulhing." 

Ill  the  spring,  water  is  an  eh-ment    of  ilesiriiction,  in   freezing  as  well  ,is  in  thawing. 

I  In     liitli'    rills    iltat    filler  ami   percolate  iiit<i  every  crack  and  creviee  nl    loik   bv    d,i\ ,  as 

ilir\    tree/e  at    iiiuhl,  eii.ible  tin-  frost   to  piv   its  giant    Icverag*' ;    ind,  when    dis,i-iii     Irom 

Nl    seems    to    threaten    everv   thing,  there    is    added    the    shock    of    filling    diils.      1  he 

'  MHi(-walls    are    not    homogeneous    in    structuif,  suine    poitions    beiim    far    les,   diii.ible, 

I  1    the    .11  lion    of    time    and    flu     elements,    than    others.        I  he     ll.ilt  dome    and     l-.l 


482 


PIC  TURESQ  UR    A  ME  RICA . 


% 


Wn'^ 


Indian.'!  making  Chemuck. 


Cupitan  are  inafrnificcnt  masses,  at  whose  feet  tlie  debris  are  comparatively  slight ;  l)ut 
Ihit  |)arl  known  as  the  Union  Rocks,  hetween  the  Cathedral  and  Sentinel  Rocks,  lias 
siilFered  very  much  from  ilisintejjration.  Great  clilTs  iiave  fallen,  and  avalanches  of  rock 
ha^'c  iiloiifrhed  their  way  down  the  slope  to  the  bottom  of  the  valley.  While  climhinij 
in  such  surroundings,  the  wreck  of  some  world  is  suggested,  so  vast  the  ruin  and  so 
pigmy  the  climber.  No  words  can  convey  other  than  a  feeble  impression  of  the  illcct'- 
ol  mountains  of  gru.iite,  sharp  and  fresh  in  fracture,  piled  one  upon  the  other,  the  inin 
fragments  of  a   forest  underneath,  or  strewed  about,  as  though  the  greatest  had  been  luii 


llur>(.'-  ivkimi^. 


THE     YOSEMITF.. 


483 


rely  slight ;  hut 


as  straws  tossed  in  the  wind.     A  i)ioad  track  of  desolation  leads  away  up  to  the  heights 
from  which  these  rocks  iiave  been  thrown. 

The  attention  may  be  diverted  from  cliffs  and  torrents  to  the  human  element  char- 
ade ristic  of  the  place,  poor  though  that  element  be,  .nul  in  the  change  find  much  tliat 
is  interesting  in  the  few  Indians  that  straggle,,  vagi  ant  and  worthless,  through  the  region. 
Tliey  seem  to  be  without  tribal  organization,  although  they  still  have  "  pow-wows,"  where 
their  leading  men,  conscious  of  the  inevitable  decay  of  the  race,  strive  to  reorganize  thein 
ami  arouse  their  dying  spirit ;  but  the  red-men  are  now  hopelessly  debauched  and  donior- 
ali/.ed.  In  general  appearance,  they  are  robust,  and  even  inclined  to  be  fieshv  ;  this  latter 
is  accounted  for  by  the  fact  that  acorns,  their  staple  of  food,  are  extremely  fattening. 
Tluie  were  at  times  as  many  as  fifty  Indians  of  all  descriptions,  male  and  female,  old 
and  young,  living  in  the  valley  in  the  most  primitive  fashion,  their  "wallies,"  or  huts, 
consisting  only  of  branches  stuck  into  the  earth  in  semicircular  form,  the  leaf-covered 
boughs  meeting  overhead.  Generally  they  are  dirty  and  disagreeal)le ;  but  their  voices 
arc  sweet,  and  llieir  language  is  really  musical.  That  some  Indians  do  wash,  I  have  had 
ocular  demonstration  ;  they  are  not  all  unqualifiedly  dirty.  While  sitting  at  work  on  the 
river-bank,  three  young  squaws  cami;  along  and  surprised  me  by  deliberately  jneparing 
tor  a  bath,  not  a  iiundred  feet  from  inc.  Tliey  disported  themselves  with  all  the  gvacc 
nf  mermaids,  diving,  swimming,  and  playing  for  nearly  an  iiour  in  the  cold  snow-water. 
Tliev  stole  a  Chinaman's  soap,  and  used  it  lavishly  ;  and,  making  their  lingers  do  duty 
as  tooth-brushes,  they  showed  a  pi  pose  of  cleaidiness  as  well  as  of  sport.  It  was  really 
a  charming  |)ieture  — the  water  so  clearly  transparent;  the  beach  shelving  in  smooth 
.>|o|ies  of  sand;  the  trees  ovenirehing  the  stream;  beyond  all,  the  \'osemite  I'all  swaying 
in  silvery  showers,  and,  in  tli  foreground  pool,  these  children  of  Nature  playing,  their 
lauiiv  skins  wet  with  water  and  glistening  with  all  tlu'  beauly  of  animated  bionze. 
\licr  their  bath,  they  favored  me  with  their  company.  One  pulled  from  its  ])laee  of 
concealment  a  Jew's-harp,  and  my  eais  were  regaled  with  "Shoo,  Fly!" 

This  particular  biiid  of  the  river  proved  to  be  a  i)lace  of  logular  Indian  resort;  for, 
■n  another  dav  within  a  few  vaiils  of  my  chosen  ground,  there  was  an  encampment  of 
not  less  than  half  a  dozen  s(|uaws,  mote  young  ones,  and  yet  more  dogs.  .\  tiie  was 
luirning  on  the  slope  under  the  cot tomvood-t tees,  and  in  it  were  a  nuinbir  of  stones  of 
Muall  size.  A  circular  basin,  about  three  feet  in  diameter,  i.nd  very  shallow,  had  be<ii 
caiefully  made  in  the  line  sand,  and  into  this  acorn-tlour  was  spread  to  the  depth  of 
three  or  four  inches.  The  acorns  are  drie<l  in  the  sun,  hulli'd,  and  pounded  between 
stones.  Hy  this  rude  process  a  very  fine-looking,  white  tlour  is  produced,  but  it  is  very 
hii.er  and  unfit  for  use  un'il  prepared.  Conical  baskets,  of  verv  tine  osier,  and  filled 
uiiii  water,  are  ma<le  to  stand  securely  i>v  planting  thetii  in  the  s.nid.  Into  ihein  hot 
Mones  are  dropped,  inid  in  a  lew  moments  the  strange  spi  'ule  is  presented  i)f  .i  basket 
111   water    boiling    violenllv.       iliis   scalding   w;iter    is    poured    through    eedai-bonglis,  helil 


484 


PICTURESQUE    AMERICA. 


fan-like  over  the  Hour,  until  ilie  sand-basi  is  full;  it  drains  rapidly  through;  the  process 
is  repeated  several  times,  until,  on  tastir  ,  the  Hour  proves  to  l)e  sweet,  the  bitterness 
havinji^  all  been  leached  away.  The  pastv  nu  -  is  then  scooped  with  the  hands  into  one 
of  the  larfje  baskets,  mixed  very  thin  with  water,  and  into  this  gruel  hot  stones  are 
dropped  until  it  boils;  it  is  stirred  and-  cooked  until  about  the  consistency  of  niu^h, 
then  it  is  considered  good  to  eat.  I'p  to  this  sta^e  I  had  l)een  intently  watching,  mul 
seemed  to  interest  the  savages  quite  as  much  as  they  interested  me.  One  of  them,  wiiii 
a  ver)-  limited  stock  of  English,  was  e\  idently  quite  willing  to  use  it  for  my  benefit.  1 
was  invited  to  join  them  as  thev  stjuatted  about  a  \msr  i>asket  of  chcmnch,  as  thev  call 
it,  which  I  did  \ery  readily.  In  addition  to  the  cherroiiutk,  they  had  cooked,  by  the  aid 
of  hot  stones,  a  ver\-  bitter  weed,  steeped  it  in  water  laiitti  it  was  tasteless,  and  that  was 
now  brought  to  add  cheer  to  the  festive  scene.  The  vcwuinjest  and  most  cleanly-looking 
scjuaw  sat  ne.xt  to  me,  and  made  herself  very  agreeable  In  her  aboriginal  pleasantry  and 
savage  politeness.  The  oKl  sijuaw';  were  dirty  l»rvond  nmtsasure ;  they  grinned  as  tluv 
ejaculatid  tlieir  gutturals,  and  seennsd  as  willing  tc-'  l)e  agriseable  as  the  younger  ones 
The\-  honored  me  especially  with  a  separate  basWer,  holdime-  maybe  a  (]uart  of  their 
acorn -gruel.  I  was  d -sirous  of  Mrnm^  their  preparation,  e.cn  after  having  noted  ihai 
all  the  water  used  was  frutn  the  riwer  to  which  the  half-do/e^  or  so  of  little  Indian- 
were  making  commentlablr  efforts  to  get  deam,  marked  bv  an  unwillingness  to  duck  .iiiil 
dive  anvwhere  but  in  th'  \er\  );x>ols  from  whiich  the  cooking-supplies  were  drawn.  iUii 
my  nerves  were  strong  ami  mv  pur|)ose  was  stout  to  share  the  hospitality  so  kindl' 
extended.  The  greens  w-r^'  put  down  bv  (he  chemuck,  and  the  trial  commenced  by  ni\ 
red  friend  taking  a  (|uantit\  >f  the  dripping  greens,  stjueezing  them  drv  in  her  hand,  ind 
otlering  them  to  me  with  paaitomimic  invitation  to  nat.  VVitti  the  quart  of  gniel  in  im 
laj)  and  the  s(|ueezed  greens  in  my  hand,  at  the  sujjreme  moment  I  was  anv  thing  Iml 
hungrv.  Thev  waited:  1  ut  th.  basket-bowl  to  my  lips;  they  shook  their  heails,  ind 
their  faces  said  that  was  not  mv   faer  asked  what   was  the  |)olite   Indian  nianiur. 

Mv  kind  friend  |)romptly  answered  liv  tirst  hlling  her  mouth  with  greens,  then  dipiiin!: 
her  four  hngers  into  my  gruel,  ladling  up  a  quantitv,  and  then,  with  surprising  quickne^- 
transferring  the  half  of  her  ham!  into  her  mouth.  l-'urther  details  are  unnecessarv-.  l'|i 
to  this  moment  my  stomach  had  remained  passive;  now  it  rebelled.  I  nibbled  liniidli 
at  the  greens,  and  dipped  one  tinker  into  my  chemuck.  A  shout  warned  me  thai  tli.ii 
would  never  do,  and  again  m\  red  iarfv- friend  set  me  an  example,  drawn  from  m\ 
private  basket.  F  oflered  two,  thrt-e  fingers;  thev  smiled  derisivelv  and  shook  llnii 
heads,  The  children  and  the  dogs  gathered  around,  and  watched  me  with  the  wi-iliil 
ness  so  peculiar  to  ihern.  The  situation  was  getting  serious,  so,  with  <|uiek  resolve  imi 
despeiate  ( nergv,  I  plunged  the  half  <>f  my  hand  into  the  bowl;  titen,  with  ,i  ?.i|iii! 
twiMting  mi  vement,  trie<l  to  get  it  and  the  adhering  gruel  into  \\\\  mouth.  Wlui  i 
mess!      Heart  and  stomach    failed  me,  and  my  face  told  of  complete  discomfiture.     Willi 


;  tin-  process 
lie  Ijiltcrncss 
iiids  into  diK' 
jt    stones  arc 
ncy  of  mush, 
ivatcliinji,  and 
jf  them,  wiih 
ny  benefit.     I 
[•.  ;is  they  call 
;d,  by  the  aid 
and  that  was 
;leanly-lookint; 
pleasantry  .md 
inned  as  tluv 
v(Hin^er   ones. 
quart    of   tiieir 
m^i  luHed  that 
f  little   Indians 
is  to  duck  and 
•e  drawn.     lUit 
ilitv    so   kinUi' 
menced  bv  ni\ 
1  her  hand,  and 
nf  jiruel  in  niv 
anv  thiny   !uii 
K-ir   heads,  and 
Indian  maniur. 
s,  then   dipiiini,' 
ising  quickness 
necessary.      \'y 
nibbled  tiniiilK 
il    me   tlial    tliai 
rawti    from    mv 
id    sh(Jok    1 1" '' 
ith    tlu'  wi^lliil- 
ick   resolve    iii'i 
II,  with    a    nipiii 
iDUth.     \V'l>'i    ■• 
onifiture.     WHI^ 


Vi»<*KMITE     FALL 


486 


pre  TURESQ  UE    A  ME  RICA. 


one  guttural  prunt  and  a  peculiar  fi^rimncss  of  expression,  the  entertainers  turned  to  help 
themselves  with  all  the  spirit  and  appetite  so  wantinj;  in  their  jruest.  All  dipping  into 
one  dish,  it  was  an  exciting  race.  The  youngsters  ladled  out  their  share,  and  the  (lo<rs 
were  not  behind,  enjoying,  as  they  did,  the  advantages  of  direct  communication,  withe  nit 
the  drawback  of  hands.  What  was  not  eaten  at  once  of  the  chemuck  was  again  cooked 
until  very  thick,  then  dipped  out  into  a  small  basket,  and  turned  into  tiie  cold  water  of 
the  river,  in  such  manner  as  to  harden  and  take  the  form  of  old-fashioned  "turnovers." 
They  really  looked  inviting  as  they  lay,  white  and  rounded,  in  a  pool  at  the  river-side. 
In  this  form  they  are  fit  for  use  for  a  number  of  days.  Chemuck  is  flat  and  tasteless; 
there  is  no  salt  used  in  cooking,  but,  to  take  its  place,  there  is  plenty  of  gritty  sund. 
The  sun  went  down  behind  Wa-haw-ka ;  the  baskets  and  bread  were  gathered  up,  packed 
into  the  large  cone  baskets  in  which  all  loads  are  carried,  strapped  upon  the  backs  of 
the  oldest  squaws,  and  they  filed  away,  leaving  their  kitchen  and  banqueting-hall  with 
no  other  trace  of  the  day's  work  than  the  smouldering  fire  and  the  pits  in  the  sand. 

Hardly  less  nomadic  or  vagabond  in  character  than  the  Indians  were  those  routrli 
fellows  that  found  their  way  into  the  valley  as  mule-men,  pedlers,  and  all  those  other 
nondescripts  that  are  to  be  found  hovering  between  the  lines  of  civilization  and  tlie 
outer  world  of  lawlessness.  To  such  the  grand  excitement  of  the  place  was  horse-racinij. 
and  the  time  invariably  on  Sunday.  Any  thing  that  looked  like  a  horse  might  lie  a 
racer,  and  as  great  a  tempest  of  excitement  could  be  raised  over  a  scrub  of  a  mustang 
as  though  it  were  a  thorough-l)red.  One  Sunday  morning  I  strolled  to  tiie  upper  end 
of  the  valley;  a  quiet  like  that  of  languor  fdled  the  air;  the  roar  of  the  Vosemite  l-'aii 
had  died  out,  and  now  but  a  slender  stream  down  the  face  of  the  cliff  marked  its  phiee. 
In  the  hush  I  walked  under  the  pine-trees,  whose  pendulous  branches  and  long,  tren.ii- 
lous  needles  vibrated  into  an  .lEolian  melody  upon  the  slightest  provocation  ;  a  scarcei\- 
perceptible  breeze  brought  whispers,  to  be  caught  only  by  the  attentixc  car,  that  swellei! 
through  faultless  crescendos  into  volumes  of  iiarmony,  rich  and  deep,  vet  ever  sonndiu;, 
strangely  far  away.  From  the  shadows  -nd  music  out  to  the  sunlighted  meadow  was 
but  a  step.  At  the  other  extreinity  of  the  oi)en  space,  four  or  five  hundred  yards  awav, 
was  a  group  of  men.  Drawing  nearer,  it  was  plain  to  be  sem  that  they  were  inhnt 
upon  tiie  preliminaries  of  a  horse-race.  There  were  Indians,  Chinamen,  Mexicans,  ni^inis, 
and  very  dark -colored  specimens  of  white  men.  There  was  a  confusion  of  tongues, 
through  which  came  the  clear  ring  of  clinking  gold  and  silver  coin,  for  all  were  bettinir 
— many  of  them  their  last  dollar.  Several  horses  were  getting  ready  for  tlie  ra(c  ;  the 
favorites  were  a  sorrel  and  a  roan,  or  "i)lue  horse;"  all  were  very  ordinary  animals,  and 
without  the  slightest  training.  There  were  no  saddles;  the  riders,  stripped  of  all  supi  r- 
fluous  clothing,  bareheaded  and  barefooted,  rode  with  only  a  sheepskin  or  i)it  of  blanket 
under  them  ;  over  the  drawn-uj)  knees  and  around  the  horse's  body  a  surcingle  was 
tightly    drawn,   binding    iiorse    and    rider    into    one.      Judges,   starters,   and    umpires,  were 


THE     YOSEMITE. 


48/ 


selected  and  positions  tak- 
en. The  word  was  given  • 
the  horses  plunged,  started, 
"  bucked ; "  again  they  start- 
ed ;  again  the  sorrel  bucked. 
An  unlimited  amount  of 
profanity  expressed  the  im- 
patience of  the  crowd.  The 
"  blue  horse  "  was  now 
largely  the  favorite. 

"  Now,  boys,  don't 
holler  when  the  horses  's 
comin' — 'cos  you  know  the 
blue  horse  might  fly  the 
track  —  then  whar's  yei 
pile.?" 

"No!  don't  holler"— 
"  we  won't  holler  ! "  went  up 
in  one  unanimous  shout. 

At    last    they    came— 
a    cloud    of    dust,    rattling 
hoofs,    and      frantic     riders 
plying     their    whips    right 
and     left    over    the    strug- 
gling   brutes   under   them  ; 
on    they   came ;   the  squat- 
ting crowd  sprang  to  their 
feet,  and   up   went   one   si- 
multaneous yell  ;  on  they  came,  the 
crowd  caf)ering,  screaming,  and  "  hol- 
lerm',"    like  so  many  madmen  ;    all  alike 
infected;   the   stoical    Indian   as  well    as   the 
mercurial    Mexican.      "Nowshet   ycr   hollerin'," 
men  of  mercury,  or,  "whar's  yer  pile?"     'Ihe  "  blue 
horse"  led,  and,  in  a   cloud  of  dust,  all  dashed  by.     It 
was  a  whirlpool  of  excitement,  the  stake  being  the  vortex. 
Kound  and  round  they  went;  shouts,  laughter,  and   profanit} 
one   wild,   incoherent    Babel— losers   and    winners   alike    indistin- 
guishable.     Their  hot   temperaments  found  the  excitement  they 


488 


PICTURESQUE    AMERICA. 


craved,  and  tlie  losers  were  rewarded  in  its  drunkenness.  Vet  another  veiy  diirertnt 
interest  is  to  l)e  found  in  the  visitors  who  thronfj  the  valley.  Prohahly  not  less  ili;,,! 
two  thousand  come  and  go  between  May  and  October  of  each  year,  and,  without  (w^.r. 
jieration,  they  may  be  said  to  represent  every  nation  and  class  of  people  on  the  \i\uW. 
I'or  their  accommodation  there  are  three  hotels,  where  excellent  fare  is  to  be  had,  ;i|| 
the  difficulties  of  gettinii  supplies  beinji  taken  into  consideration.  An  cnterijrisinfi  in- 
dividual has  opened  a  saloon,  with  a  display  of  cut-}rlass  and  silver  that  is  (piite  ilaz- 
zlinfj.  A  fjreat  mule,  stagfjerinj^  under  th<  slate- beds  of  a  billiard -table,  carried  ihc 
heaviest  load  that  has  yet  been  taken  into  the  valley;  and  plans  were  laid,  iluii  bv 
this  time  may  have  been  realized,  for  sledding  a  piano  over  the  winter  snow,  to  lie 
added  to  the  establishment.  Here,  too,  is  the  telegraph-olTice,  where  ,i  single  telegra|)hit 
,  wire  connects  with  the  outer  world.  A  fifth  house  has  been  built,  or  perched,  fourteen 
hundri'd  feet  aiiove  the  valley-bottom,  on  the  small  rock-level  between  the  Vernal  and 
Nevada  I'ails.  The  proprietors  of  these  establishments  hold  them  subject  to  leases 
granted  i)y  the  \'osemite  commissioners.  The  same  authority  also  ajipoints  a  guardian 
of  the  valley,  whose  duty  it  is  to  see  that  the  rules  for  the  preservation  of  tiie  trees 
and  the  prevention  of  wanton  defacement  are  properly  enforced. 

The  scenic  itfects  of  winter  are  described  as  wonderfully  beautiful,  the  ice-forms 
about  the  falls  being  particularly  interesting.  No  (loui)t  in  time  it  will  be  tlu-  fashion 
to  make  winter-excursions  into  the  Vosemite,  but  for  the  present  it  is  safe  to  advise 
that,  if  the  visit  cannot  be  made  in  May  or  June,  it  be  deferred  until  another  season, 
for  later  in  the  year,  to  the  disappointment  of  losing  some  of  the  fuust  features  in  the 
scenery,  are  added  the  discomforts  of  heat,  toil,  and  an  all-pervading  dust,  that  |Hnc- 
trates  to  tht'  innermost  recesses  of  one's  baggage  and  being.  The  temperature  of  spiiiiir 
is  delightful,  but  during  summer  the  thermometer  frequently  stands  as  high  as  96'  and 
98°,  while  on  the  |)lains  it  is  away  above    100°. 

There  are  now  no  less  than  hve  trails  over  which  a  horse  may  get  in  or  out  of  tiic 
valley:  the  Mari|)osa  trail,  passing  Inspiration  Point,  and  entering  at  the  southern  ind; 
tin-  ('()ulttT\iile  trail,  that  comes  in  at  the  same  end,  on  the  o|)|)osite  side;  a  third  trail, 
passing  near  (llacier  Point,  .md  entering  at  the  foot  of  Sentinel  Rock,  about  midwa\  n|i 
the  valley  on  its  eastern  side;  a  fourth  one,  passing  through  the  Merced  Gorge  bv  the 
Vernal  and  Nevada  l-'alls;  and  the  fifth,  through  Indian  Canon,  on  the  west  side,  iiorlh 
of  Vosemite  b'all.  Over  this  last  it  is  barely  |H)ssible  to  get  a  horse,  and  it  is  veiv  link 
used.  On  the  Coulterville  route  travellers  may  ride  in  stages  to  the  beguuiing  of  the 
descent,  and  at  its  foot  may  again  take  vehicles  to  the  u|)per  end  of  the  \  alley — abdut 
four  mdes  of  level  road — so  reducing  the  horseback  riding  to  but  thiee  nii!'':  It  is  a  mis- 
take to  think  that  the  natural  barriers — the  walls  surrounding — are  impassable;  there  are 
many  places  where  a  l)old  climber  could,  without  any  great  difficulty,  surmount  ail  obstacles. 
The  trail  thnuigh  Merced  Gorge,  after  reaching  the  top  of  Nevada   ball,  crosses  the 


fiy  clitTcruiit 
lOt  loss  than 
ithout  I'xaiT- 
11  tlie  lilolii'. 
I  he-  hiul,  all 
crprisinjr  in- 
is  (iiiitc  da/.- 
,  cairird  llu' 
laid,  thai    l.y 

snow,  to  he 
(.'  lck'jnrra|)hic 
hed,  Iburtt'cMi 
.'  \'crnal  and 
x't  to  leases 
s  a  <.',iKirdian 

ol"  liu'   trees 

the  ice-forms 
e  the  fasiiion 
ate  to  advise 
lolher  sea'^on, 
.■atitres  in  the 
t,  that  pene- 
ture  of  sprini; 
1   as  q6"  and 

or  out  of  tlie 
southern  end; 

a  third  trail, 
It  midway  up 
Ciorsre  liv  the 
.'St  side,  north 
t  is  vi'ry  liiili' 
nuiinjn   ol    the 

vallev— ahoiit 

It   is  a  niis- 

liie  ;   there  are 

1  ail  obstacles, 

dl,  crosses  the 


TEN AY A 


CANON,     FitOM     OLACIEU     i'UlNl. 


mm 


IMAGE  EVALUATION 
TEST  TARGET  (MT-3) 


1.0 


I.I 


I2H28 

yo    "^ 

J:  1^  12.0 


M 

2.2 


1.8 


Li5  III!  u.  11.6 


^. 


o. 


/, 


r 


>^ 


I%otogrdphic 

Sciences 
Corporation 


23  WISi  MAIN  STRUT 

WIftSTIR.N  V    I4SS0 

(7I«)  •73-4503 


490 


PICTURESQUE   AMERICA. 


stream  and  the  soutliern  end  of  the  Little  or  Upper  \'osemite  \'alley.  This  valley,  nmrc 
than  two  thousand  feet  above  its  famous  nei^iihor,  is  one  of  the  many  great  gninitc 
iK.jin?  peculiar  to  this  section  of  country.  Tlie  bottom  is  a  little  more  than  three  niilcs 
long,  and  is  a  pleasant  succession  of  meadows  and  forests,  through  which  Hows  the  Mer- 
ced River.  The  sides  are  not  so  much  walls  as  smooth,  hare  slopes  of  seamless  granite, 
ribboned  witii  sienna  lirown  bands  from  running  water,  and  here  and  there  breaking  into 
those  strange  dome- forms  so  |)rovocative  of  (jueslions  that  as  yet  have  received  no 
answer. 

.'Vmong  our  more  extended  excursions  we  planned  one  to  this  place,  and,  as  we 
were  to  camp  out  for  several  days,  our  preparations  were  careful,  and,  on  starting,  our 
cavalcade  was  imposing.  I'ive  riders  led  ;  three  p.ick-horses  followed  laden  with  hampers 
anil  blankets,  each  pack  crowned  with  an  inverted  kettle  or  a  broad  frying-pan.  Alter 
commencing  the  ascent,  the  wav  led  through  woods,  close  grown,  and  fdled  with  a  tan- 
gled undergrowth  that,  with  ail  its  rank  vigor,  was  unable  to  overtop  the  great  fragnunts 
of  rock  that  strewed  the  forest.  In  place -,  the  trail  twisted  fiom  right  to  left  in  sliarji 
zig.'cags,  and  was  so  exceedingly  steep  that  the  horse  and  rider  u])on  tin-  tiun  above 
seemed  to  be  almost  overhead.  Within  sight  the  river  roared  and  tumbled  in  a  seriLs 
of  cataracts.  We  left  our  horses  under  a  great  overhanging  rock,  in  charge  of  the  guide, 
to  be  taken  up  the  trail  to  meet  us  farther  on,  while  we  tlind)ed  by  a  (oot-jnith  annMid 
the  b.isi'  of  a  magnificent  clifT,  and  out,  face  to  face  with  that  beautiful  sheet  of  lallinir 
water  called  the  \'ernal  Fall.  It  is  a  curtain  unbroken  in  its  plunge  of  four  hundred 
feet  ;  on  either  side,  the  narrow  gorge,  drenched  with  sprav  and  glimmering  with  rainbow- 
tints,  is  green  with  exuberant  vegetable  life.  Climbing  long  ladders,  we  reached  the  top, 
to  find  a  broad,  basined  rock  and  a  lovely  little  lakelet  s|Mrkling  in  the  sunlight.  i",n- 
ther  oi\,  we  crossed  a  slender  bridge,  Wildcat  C"ataract  ll\  ing  uni'eineath,  just  bevond 
which  the  little  house  already  s|)oken  of  as  iielweiii  tin-  Vernal  and  Nevada  (""all',  found 
anchorage  to  the  Hat  rock,  liefon-  us  Nevad.i  I'all  came  tumbling  over  a  wall  «  xeeed- 
ing'six  lumiired  feet  in  height;  to  the  right  the  (  aj)  of  I  ibcrlv,  a  singular  form  of  l;  ran- 
ite,  lose  more  than  two  thousand  feet  ;  all  about  were  heights  and  depths,  grand  to  look 
up  to,  terrible  to  look  into.  We  had  rejoined  our  guide  and  horses,  and,  passing  tliroiiirji 
a  clump  of  dark-looking  firs  that  clustered  at  the  foot  of  the  Nevada  I'all,  we  came  oui 
upon  a  slide  of  fr»shlv-fractured,  glistening  granite  that  seemed  impassable,  but  a  w.iv  had 
been  made,  .nid  up  ilii'  avalanche  of  rock  om  horses  beiook  themselves,  climbing  with 
W(md -rful  pluck  and  surencss  of  foot,  hut  one  beast  had  shown  a  spirit  of  insubenlinn- 
tion.  so  the  guide  had  tied  him  close  to  a  leader.  At  each  angle  of  the  zigzagging  trail 
he  would  balk,  •••fusing  to  follow;  the  other  lioisr,  kee|)ing  on  regardless,  pulled  the  oii- 
stinatc  creature  into  predicaments  Irom  which  he  eould  not  extricate  himself;  then  i  ach 
pulled  against  the  other,  utterlv  indilVerent  as  to  con.sequences.  In  one  of  these  contests 
the  foothold  of  the  leuler  gave  way,  and,  in  ,m  instant,  a  confused  mass  of  horse,  an  in 


THE     YOSliMITn. 


491 


c.\tiitvi!)k'  juniblL'  of  heads,  Ictrs,  and 
tails,  to  say  iKitliinir  <>f  Unities  and 
liN  in,u-i)ans,  canu'  lioiindin^  toward 
mc ;  Icaviny  the  trail,  llic  horses 
turned  two  or  three  somersaults 
aiiioiiii  the  liroken  rneks  helow,  and 
then  la\  still.  \\'<'  elaniheri'd  (|iiiek- 
Iv  down  It)  them;  tliev  were  not 
deail,  did  not  even  have  any  hones 
hidken — their  paeks  had  saved  them. 
One,  Ivinjr  wed),a'd,  with  his  leet  in 
the  ail,  iceeived  our  tirst  attention; 
ropes  and  straps  were  eiit,  and  ihrei- of  iis  undertook  to  inll  the  i)easl  out  of  his  jiosilion. 
No  sooner  did  we  jret  him  to  wheic  he  eould  use  liis  letrs,  tlian  \v  made  one  v<  hemeni 
I'llort,  and  we  weic  ti>ssed  hke  ehiidien.  I  remember  seeinji  a  liahl  head  lollowed  hv  a  hdl 
a)in|)lenient  of  arm^  and  lejrs,  fly  past  me,  as  though  projeeted  from  a  eata|)iill  ;  tlu'  ^iiide 
seemed  to  siid<  out  of  si^ht,  and  somethinjr.  tlutt  struck  verv  much  aftrr  the  ninmei  of  ,1 
tri|i-hanimer,  spreait  me  on  my  hack.  In  an  instant  we  wire  upon  our  Utt.  to  imd  thai 
the  hor  >'  h.id  fallen  upon  the  jruide,  who  was  Iviii),"  under  him  pinned  to  the  roek. 
Thiiijjs  now  were  reallv  serious.  Should  the  horse  ajjjain  strun>r|e,  the  irum  under  him  woidd 
proiiablv  suffer   fatal  injury,  so,  unothcr  cuniinjt  to  the  rescue,  one  sprung  to  the  horse's 


(ii'nc'iiil  View  of  \'nst'iHitf,   friir.i  Simutiit  <.t  dituil^   Uisl. 


^111 


';'!: 


-^nssss^ 


492 


PICTURESQUE    AMERICA. 


liead,  liolilint;  it  linnly  tluwii,  whiU-  the  other  two,  fretting;  under  the  beast,  lifted  liim 
bodily  until  the  <iiiide  was  able  to  dratj  himself  out  with  nothing  worse  than  a  sevcieh- 
sprained  ankle  and  a  bruised  leg.  It  is  not  at  all  surprising  that  getting  the  horses  on 
the  trail  jMcned  nuieh  more  difficult  than  their  getting  olT.  While  the  packs  were  l)e- 
ing  adjusted  upon  other  horses,  for  these  could  barely  hobble  along,  I  made  a  ski  tth 
of  the  scene,  looking  down  the  gorge.  In  the  distance  is  a  glimpse  of  the  western 
wall  of  the  Vosemite.  Nearer,  on  the  left,  is  Glacier  Point,  rounding  up  to  Sentinel 
Dome.  The  form  to  the  right,  in  the  middle  of  the  picture,  is  a  point  called  Crinoline, 
Sugar-Loaf,  X'erdant,  and  several  other  names.  It  is  a  spur  from  the  shoulder  of  tlic 
IIalf-do;ne.  The  rock  that  forms  the  right  of  the  sketch  is  a  portion  of  the  base  of 
the  Cap  of  Liberty.  Resuming  our  way,  we  reached  the  upper  valley  late  in  the  after- 
noon, and  found  an  ingeniously-constructed,  evergreen  brush-house  ready  for  us.  li  was 
short  work  to  unpack  and  unsaddle  our  horses,  turn  them  loose,  gather  wood,  light  a 
fire,  and  j)repare  our  evening  meal.  During  preliminary  proceedings  the  two  ladies  of 
our  |)arty  were  engaged  making  gay  and  home-like  the  interior  of  our  hut.  Bright-coload 
blankets  were  spread  witli  an  eve  critical  to  effect,  and  the  heavy  Mexican  saddles  made 
capital  lounges  and  pillows.  A  stroll  in  twilight,  until  it  deepened  into  m.oonlight,  com- 
pleted the  d  u.  In  spite  of  all  our  precautions,  the  first  night  was  really  uncomfortahle, 
owing  to  the  cold;  in  ihe  morning  a  gray  riine  of  frost  covered  every  thing;  we  were 
camping  at  an  elevation  g- eater  than   thi'  summit  of  Mount  Washington. 

I'rom  camp  we  made  an  excursion  to  the  lop  of  Cloud's  Rest,  a  point  of  view  iluit 
surpasses  all  oiIkts  in  its  comprehensiveness,  as  it  rises  at  least  six  thousand  feet  aliove 
the  \'o-;t'miie,  or  ten  thousand  above  the  sea.  Starting  after  an  early  breakfast,  we  rode 
for  an  hour  or  two  through  open  and  scattered  woods,  climbing  r.ipidly.  Not  veiv  far 
from  the  summit  we  entered  a  remarkable  grove  of  sugar-pines,  through  which  ran  a 
small  stream,  where  grass  grew  abundantly.  We  took  our  horses  to  within  a  few  lumdied 
yards  of  ilu-  summit,  after  cantering  over  a  waste  of  disintegrating  granite,  upon  which 
stooil,  at  wide  intervals,  strangely  grotesque  pines,  gaunt  of  limb  ,mA  thick-bodied,  rigid  ami 
tendonous.  Their  branches  were  awry,  as  if  suddenly  stayed  while  wieslling  for  life  against 
the  storm,  and  ih  -ir  olive-brown  verdure  had  no  vital,  sapjiy  green  to  refresh  the  eye  V\w\\ 
the  blinding  whiteness  of  the  rock  and  sand  were  traced,  in  severe  lines,  shadows  more 
wild  and  wiird  even  than  the  real  lorms,  and  over  all  stu-tched  a  vault  of  "duskv  violet," 
completing  a  |>ieturi-  almost  without  suggestion  of  «)ur  fainiliar  world  of  beauty.  Here 
we  left  our  horses  and  climbed  to  the  top,  which  proved  to  be  a  long,  thin,  wavi  like 
ciest  of  granite,  verv  narrow  and  piled  with  loose  blocks  thai  looked  so  insecure  that  it 
recpiireil  steadv  nerves  (o  walk  its  length,  wliieh  in  places  was  not  more  than  ten  ci 
twelve  feet  wide.  On  the  east  .side  the  dcsicni  was  a  steep  sweep  for  hundreds  of  feet; 
on  the  west  it  was  thousands.  It  fell  awav  in  one  unbroken  surface  of  granile,  at  an 
angle  of   iKd   less  than  45",  with    no  olctacle  to  stay  a  falling  body  until  it   should  n  uli 


Tin-:   rosEiM/TE. 


493 


beast,  lifted  liim 
than  a  severclv- 
ig  the  horses  on 
packs  were  be- 
made   a   sketch 
>  of  the  western 
up    to    Sentinel 
called  Crinoline, 
shoulder  u{  the 
1    of   the  base  uf 
late  in  the  alter- 
for   us.      It  was 
ler  wood,  liglit  a 
e    two    ladies  of 
t.     Bright-eoiortd 
can  saddles  made 
moonlight,  eom- 
lly  uncomfortahle, 
V  thing ;  we  were 
)n. 

3oint  of  view  liiat 
ousiMid    feet   above 
breakfast,  we  rode 
Iv.      Not   veiv  far 
)Ugh  which    tan  a 
iiin  a  few  hundred 
ranile,  upon  which 
;k-bodied,  rigid  and 
ing  for  life  against 
.'sh  the  eye      I'luin 
ncs,  shadows  more 
of  "  duskv  viidct," 
of   beauty.      I  ieiv 
)ng,  thin,  wav(  hki 
so   insecure  thai   it 
more    than    ten    (i 
hundreds  of  teel; 
;  of  granite,  at    an 
nlil  it   should  nath 


the  depths  of  Tenaya  Cation, 
at    least    a    mile    and    a    half 
distant.      This  slope  is  shown 
in    the    fidl  -  page    illustration 
ol      'ieiiaya      (afioii,      where 
Cloud's  Kest    is    tlie  point   just 
to  the  left   of  tiu-    Half-dome.     It 
re(|uired    some  minutes  to  settle  the 
nerves    ;;nd    VnAk    cahnly    about,      'io 
lie  north,  ovtr    intiiveniiig    canons  and 
gorges,  tl'.e  Siena  peaks  lose  grandly  deso- 
late, i)ak'    and    il(dicalel\-    linlt'd    with     many 
tones,  waim     and     eo(d,    against    \\w    eloudless 
vacuum    of    the    sky    beyond,    that,    i)V    contrast, 
wore    a    stiangely    sombre     hue.      'riicir    shoulders 
were    robed    with    snow    and    iee,    and    their    Hanks 
wi'ie   grooved   and   seariid   by  glaciers    long    siiiee    e.v- 
linct.       I'pon     lower    levels    a    sparsr.-    growth     of    ever- 


(;.)r({i'  III  111.'   MiTci'il,   fi.iiii  I  ill 
I'liini    I'rail. 


indscap 
the    snov. 


an 


dd 


^JlOt" 


ol    rock   sliowcd  .ilmost   as  w 


hi) 


c  as 


|K'\  ond 


'11 


ns    peculiar    appearance  of  stcrilit\,  and 


meagre,  patchy  lorest-growth.  cliarac(eri/es  all  the  surrounding 
country  when    seen    from    such    a    height.       Tmning    fioin   the 

level,  ui'   l(>(d<ed   down   si.\ 


Sierras,  that  wore  from  three  to   five  thousand   feel   above  our 
Ihousand  feet  into  the   N'osemiti',  whose  peculiar,  trough-like  format i 
ni/able.  rumiing  almost    at    riuht  anglis  to  llu    regul.n    trend  of   tin    mounta 


on  was  readily  recog- 


ins,  and  fullv 


I 


'lur   thousand   feet    below    the    average   level  of  the  surrounding    country.      The   famil 


lar 


494 


PICrURHSOUE    AMERICA. 


forms  of  the  enclosing  walls,  and 
the  green  groves  and  meadows  of 
the  valley -floor  vipon  which  the 
Merced  sparkled,  could  be  plainly 
seen,  but  angles  of  rock  hid  each 
water-fall. 

No   one    can    really    claim    to 
have  seen  the  best  general  view  of 
the  Yosemite  until  he  has  climbed 
Cloud's    Rest.      In    the    illustration 
(p.  491 )    the   form    on   the   left,  in 
light,   is   the    Half-dome,   of  which 
views   from    different    positions  arc- 
presented  :     first,    in    the    openinjr 
picture ;    again,   rising    behind    the 
figures  in   Horse-Racing;   in  the  full-page   engrav- 
ing  of    Tenaya    Cafion  ;    from    Glacier    Point,   and 
also   from    a   point   farther  east,  given   on    this  page, 
Above  it   is   Sentinel   Dom<^,  sloping  down   to  Glacier 
Point;    a    small    bit    of    Sentinel     Rock    projects    just 
beyond.       I'arther    away   are    the    Cathedral     Rocks    and 
Spires.      Opposed   to   them,  on   the   right,  is   El   (Japitan. 
Immediately  underneath,  in  the  picture,  is  the  North  Dome, 
sweeping  down  to   Washington  Column,  and  separated  from 
the    Half-dome    by  Tenaya   Canon.     The  Yosemite  Fall  is  to 
the   right,  and   Lack   of  the    North    Dome.     The  Gorge  of  tlu' 
Merced,  and  Nevada  and   Vernal   Falls,  are  to  the  left,  and  back 
of   the    Half- dome.      Hrida!-veil    I-^ill    is    back    of   the    Cathedral 
Rocks,  away  in  the  distance. 

After  a  day  or  two  we  broke  camj),  and,  by  a  new  trail,  ovii 
which  we  were  the  first  to  p.iss,  made  a  dt'iour,  keeping  along  the  upper  edge  of  the  Mer- 
ced Gorge,  crossing  the  To<>-lulu-\vack  a  few  hundred  yards  above  its  fall,  and  thence  to 
Glacier  Point.  This  is  one  of  the  most  interesting  rides  about  the  valley,  presenting  many 
grand  and  even  startling  'lews.  From  one  |)oint  we  could  look  down  into  what  seemci' 
a  bottomless  abyss,  for  it  was  impossible  to  see  its  greatest  depth.  C)ut  of  it  came  ihc 
roaring  of  distant  waters  and  the  lulling  song  of  pine-tree  forests.  The  Too-lulu-wack 
i^ill  was  almost  under  us,  and  could  not  Ik'  seen;  but  on  the  opposite  side  were  the 
\'ernal  and  Nevada  l-'alls  and  the  many  cataracts  of  the  Merced  that,  unlike  nidM 
of  the   other   streams   that    enter   the    N'osemite,  are   very    imposing   all   the   year   round. 


HalMome. 


Ml 


THE    YOSEMITE. 


495 


:    projects    just 


The  Cap  of  Liberty  rose  prominently  in  tiie  centre ;  back  of  that  the  upper  Yosem- 
■3  opened,  and  beyond  all  were  the  snow-capped  High  Sierras.  In  the  engraving  of 
tliis  view,  the  peculiar  rock-form  and  character  of  the  upper  valley  walh  or  slopes  have 
l)cen  quite  lost.  Passing  on,  we  soon  reached  Glacier  Point.  At  its  jiorthern  end  the 
\'oseniite  Valley  divides  in  the  form  of  a  Y,  Tenaya  Canon  forming  the  left  arm,  and 
tlie  Merced  Gorge  the  right.  Again,  the  Merced  Gorge  is  divided  like  a  T,  the 
Merced  entering  on  the  left,  the  Too-lulu-wack  on  the  right.  Glacier  Point  is  a  spur 
of  rock  or  mountain  jutting  out  on  the  west  or  right-hand  side  of  the  valley,  where  it 
divides.  From  its  terraced  summit  we  looked  down  thirty -two  hundred  feet  to  the 
meadows  at  our  very  feet.  Few  can  gaze  into  such  a  depth  without  a  shudder.  Di- 
rectly opposite,  on  the  other  side,  perhaps  a  mile  and  a  half  away,  the  Yosemite  Fall 
came  down  half  a  mile  in  three  leaps,  its  truly  graceful  proportions  seen  to  greater  ad- 
vantage than  from  any  other  point.  To  the  right  or  north,  we  looked  up  Tenaya 
Canon,  its  narrow  lloor  beautiful  with  tall  pines  that  almost  hid  its  one  jewel,  Mirror 
Lake;  but  with  walls  grim  and  vast  that  swept  on  the  right  up  five  thousand  feet  to 
the  grand,  dominating  form  of  the  valley,  the  Half-dome.  The  bald  slope  and  crest  of 
Cloud's  Rest  towered  beyond,  and  back  of  all  the  Sierras  lifted  their  peaks,  as  yet  un- 
trodden by  the  foot  of  man.  There  can  be  but  few  places  where  so  much  of  the  ter- 
rible and  the  beautiful  are  at  once  combinetl. 

From  Glacier  P(jint  a  trail  leads  to  tiie  summit  of  Sentinel  Dome,  Upon  this 
height  we  spent  an  hour  or  more,  enjoying  already  familiar  features  as  viewed  from  a 
new  stand-point.  The  ride  thence  to  Paregoy's,  distant  about  six  miles,  was  through 
lieavy  forest.  From  Paregoy's  we,  brothers  of  the  brush,  returned  to  our  old  quarters  in 
the  valley,  and  worked  hard  for  two  months  to  bring  away  some  limned  shadow,  how- 
ever faint,  of  the  wonders  about  us.  At  last  our  work  was  done,  and  our  traps  were 
packed  for  departure.  Familiar  with  horses,  pack-mules,  and  trails,  we  were  independent 
of  guides.  The  valley  was  filled  with  morning  shadows  when  we  started  on  our 
way.       I    led,   dragging    after    me    an    extremely    recusant    pack-mule,   that    was    pricked 

into  conformity  by  G ,  who  followed,  armed  with  a  formidable  stick,  at  least  si.x  feet 

lung.  Ik'tween  our  horses,  the  mule,  and  "  last  looks,"  much  time  was  consuincd,  but 
Paregoy's  was  reached  before  one  o'clock,  and  the  Ir.te  afternoon  was  spent  trying  to  get 
a  study  of  evening  tints  over  the  Sierras.  The  colorless  granite  is  singularly  responsive 
'  '  certain  atmospheric  effects.  Against  a  background  of  storm-cloud  their  forms  stand 
v.'.r.  and  ghost-like;  in  the  blinding  glare  of  the  mid-day  sun  they  foint,  almost  indis- 
tinguishable; and,  at  sunset,  they  glow  with  a  ruddy  light,  that  is  slowly  extinguished 
liv  the  upcrceping  shadows  of  night,  until  the  hignest  point  llames  for  one  moment, 
then  dies,  ashy  pale,  under  the  glory  that  is  lifted  to  the  sky  above.  Then  the  cold 
moon  tips  with  silver  those  giant,  sleeping  forms,  and  by  its  growing  light  I  cleared  my 
palette,  and  closed  the  bo.x   upon  my  last    .tudy  of  the   Yosemite  and  Sierras. 


in 


ill 


PROVIDENCE    AND    VICINITY. 


WITH       I  b  I.  U  S  T  R  A  T  I  O  .V  S       I!  V       W  1  I,  [.  I  A  M       II         (i  I  H  S  O  N  . 


iT"v'^toNu''^'l  E  N  T.  juf /■ 


TX  the  year  1635,  tho  Massachusetts  Bay  Company  thoufrlit  it  necessary'  to  banish 
-'-  kofjcr  Williams,  ihin  a  minister  at  Salem,  out  of  their  jurisdiction,  as  his  views  of 
(.'hurch  jjovernment,  and  fantastic  notions  about  freedom  of  conscience  and  religious 
liberty,  were  regarded  as  unscriptural  and  dangerous.  Ibe  exiled  man  found  his  way  on 
foot  to  the  Seekonk  Plains,  where  he  passed  the  winter  with  the  Indians,  whose  steadfast 
friend  and  |)r()tector  he  remaineil  to  the  end  of  liis  life.  Late  in  the  following  spring, 
or  early  in  the  summer,  he,  with  five  companions,  crossed  the  Seekonk  River  in  a  log- 
canoe,  and  landed  on  what  is  now  known  as  .Slate  Rock,  on  the  eastern  boundary  of 
Providence.  The  Narragansetts  were  at  this  time  the  most  numerous  and  powerful  tribe 
of  Indians  in  New  Mngland ;  and  it  is  the  tradition  that  a  group  of  these  aborigines, 
who  from  a  neighboring  hillock  had  been  watching  the  approach  of  the  new-comer, 
saluted  him  on  his  arrival  with  the  fiiendlv  greeting,  "What  cheer  !  "-words  which  have 
been  perpetuated  in  Rhode  Island  in  the  titles  of  banks,  jniblic  buildings,  and  various 
societies  and  institutions. 

Williams,  with    his   associates,  at  one?"  proceeded  to  establish  a  settlement,  about  one 


ssary  to  banish 
IS  his  views  of 
■    and    religious 
ind  his  way  on 
whose  steadfast 
illowins    spiintr. 
River  in  a  loir- 
n    l)oundary  of 
i  powerful  trill' 
hese    atiorijiints, 
tlie    new-comer, 
rds  which   liave 
i^s,  and  various 

iient,  aliout  one 


■ 


\\ 


s 


^ 


^ 


rS: 


PROVIDENCE    AND    VICINITY 


497 


mile  to  the  northwest  of  the 
s])()t  where  he  landed,  around 
wliich  a  population  gradually 
collected,  representing  great 
varieties  of  opinion,  and  who, 
for  the  most  part,  wished  for 
liberty  to  think  as  they 
|)lcased,  and  also  to  give  free 
iiltcrance  to  their  sentiments, 
without  fear  or  molestation. 
For  nearly  a  century  there 
were  but  few  persons  of  emi- 
nence or  wealth  in  the  town, 
most  of  the  people  being  en- 
traged  in  husbandry  and  han- 
dicraft. This  explains  the 
fact  tliat  no  buildings,  pub- 
lic or  private,  appear  to  have 
lieen  erected  with  any  other 
than  perishable  material,  or 
with  any  pretensions  to  ar- 
chitectural beauty,  the  rick- 
ety structure  designated  as 
the  "Old  Homestead"  in  our 
pictorial  illustrations  being  a 
fair  specimen  of  the  only  rel- 
ics that  remain  of  our  more 
ancient  houses. 

From  this  humble  begin- 
ning, Providence  has  come 
to  take  rank  as  the  second 
city  in  New  England  for  size, 
numbering,  in  1873,  about 
eifrlity  thousand  inhabitants. 
It  is  also  proportionally  one 
of  the  wealthiest  cities  in 
tile  land,  and  is  surpassed  by 
none  in  the  variety  of  em- 
ployments  which   occupy  the 


E 

6 


498 


PICTURESQUE    AMERICA. 


people.  Almost  every  thing  is  mannfacturcd  here — cotton  goods  and  woollen  ck/tlis, 
castings  and  macliinory  of  all  descriptions,  guns,  locomotives,  tools,  steam-engines,  and 
sewinti-machines ;  jewelry,  cheap  and  costly,  the  finest  gold  chains  being  made  b)  n  a- 
chines  that  turn  out  some  hunureds  of  feet  in  a  day ;  tortoise-shell  work  that  f.nds  its 
way  into  all  parts  of  the  world  ;  silver-ware,  unsurpassed  in  beauty  of  design  and  deli- 
cacy of  workmanship ;  cotton-seed  oil  and  pea-nut  oil  that  pass  at  the  hotels,  and  sonic- 
times  at  private  tables,  as  genuine  olive;  pa'^ent  medicines  that  cure  or  kill  in  all 
nations ;  cocoa-nut  dippers  by  the  ship-load ;  and,  above  all,  screws  tiiat  have  driven  ail 
others  out  of  the  market,  and  yield  a  profit  to  the  stockholders  of  five  or  six  hundred 
per  cent,  on  their  original  investment.  All  the  mills  in  and  about  the  city  may  iicit 
be  as  picturesque  as  that  which  our  artist  has  copied ;  but,  with  few  exceptions,  they  are 
of  substantial  material,  and  their  size  gives  to  them  a  degree  of  grandeur. 

The  foreign  commerce,  which  imparted  to  the  town  its  first  imjiulse,  has  nearly  died 
out ;  but  the  harbor  is  crowded  with  vessels,  laden  witii  timber  and  c(,al,  and  lines  of 
ocean-steamers  have  been  estal)lish_d  of  late,  which  bring  this  port  into  direct  communi- 
cation with  the  most  important   "ities  on  our  coasts. 

The  general  l;iy  of  the  land  is  such  that  no  one  picture  can  give  a  fair  idea  of 
the  size  and  extent  of  the  city,  and  the  variety  of  hill  and  hollow  brings  the  tops  of 
the  steeples  in  one  cjuarter  on  a  line  with  the  lower  windows  of  houses  ^;et  upon  the 
higher  streets.  I'roin  certain  j)oints  of  vie\',  the  buildings  look  as  if  they  had  been  in- 
serted into  the  sides  tf  the  hill,  an'!  some  of  the  streets  are  so  steep  tli.it  railings  have 
been  placed  on  both  sides  to  aiil  the  pedestrian  in  his  ascent  and  descent.  In  one  or 
two  cases,  the  passage  of  vehicles  is  arrested  by  a  llight  of  sto.  j  steps,  extending  'lie 
entire  width  (>f  the  road.  It  is  now  proposed  to  tunnel  the  loftiest  of  these  elevation^, 
and  thus  bring  the  eastern  and  western  portions  of  the  city  into  easier  cornnuini- 
cation. 

Providence  indicates,  in  its  peculiar  name,  the  spirit  in  which  it  was  founded,  and 
there  are  few  places  where  the  cardinal  virtues  and  higher  emotions  are  signalized  in  the 
titles  of  the  thoroughfares  as  conspicuously  as  they  are  hen-.  Thus  we  have  Henevoknt 
Street,  Henefit  Street,  I-'aith  Street,  U;  ppy  Street,  Hope  Street,  Joy  Street,  and  others 
of  like  sort.  Amsterdam  is  perhaps  the  only  city  that  can  go  beyond  this  in  ilie 
<|uaintness  of  the  names  by  which   the  streets  are  designated. 

Thee  are  more  wooden  buildings  in  Providence  than  can  be  found  in  any  other 
place  in  the  Tnited  States.  ( )ne  may  travel  over  large  districts  of  the  city  without 
seeing  a  house  of  st  ne  or  luick.  At  the  sair7'j  time,  it  may  be  noted  that  the  jiropor- 
tion  of  lieautiful  and  stately  inansions,  many  of  wliicli  are  built  of  .stable  material,  is 
uncommonly  great  ;  and  these  private  dwelling-houses  are  often  surrounded  by  snaeious 
and  cul'ivated  grounds,  filled  with  flowers  and  shadel  by  ornamental  trees.  I'ntil  a 
compapuively  recent   date,  the   humbler   so.t  of  dwellings  were  constructed   after  a  very 


PROVIDENCE    AND    VICINITY. 


499 


uniform  model,  and  that  an  cxccodingl)  commonplace  desijrn.  The  same  thing  may  be 
said  of  most  of  our  older  New-England  towns,  and  it  would  sometimes  seem  as  though 
an  effort  iiad  been  made  to  avoid  every  feature  in  their  archittx'ture  that  is  seemly  and 
picturesque.  Our  people  are  now  beginning  to  see  that  an  inexpensive  and  humble 
dwel.'uig  may  be  made  attractive  by  a  symmetrical  arrangement  of  lines  and  a  proper 
adjustment  of  the  roof,  and  such  trifling  adornments  as  add  very  little  to  the  cost 
and  require  no  great  amount  of  skill  in  their  construction.  As  might  be  expected, 
wliile   we   are   passing    through    the   transition   period   from    bald   ugliness   to   grace   and 


i     ;      .   1- 


nt 


I  \    '\ 


rhc  "Abbott  llouw.' 


liLiutv,  absurd  and  ambitious  monstrosities  are  perpetrated,  from  which  tiu-  cultivated 
eve  turns  away  in  disgust — nillars  that  look  like  an  old-fashioned  bedpost  magiiilieil, 
supporting  a  huge  portico  altogether  out  of  proportion  to  the  house;  l)its  of  l^gyplian, 
anil  (irecian,  and  Saracenic,  and  Ciotiiic,  put  together  in  awful  defiance  of  ail  flic  rules 
iif  art,  with  combinations  of  incongruous  coloring  ihat  make  one  shud<!er.  Hiit,  before 
lung,  we  shall  ix-  rid  of  these  al)oininations ;  and,  as  men  go  to  a  good  tailor  when  lluv 
want  a  good  coal,  so  lliev  will  learn  to  call  upon  a  real  architect,  who  un<lerstands  his 
Imsiness,  when  they  would  build  a  good  house. 

What    is   known   as  the  "Abbott    House"   is    an    ;..uient    structure,  in   which   R«»gcr 


500 


PIC  TUR  F.SO  UE    A  ME  RICA . 


Williams  is  said  to  have  held  his  praycr-mectings.  It  was  erected  by  Samuel  \Vhi|)ple, 
one  of  the  early  settlers  of  Providence  Plantations,  and  who  was  the  first  person  buried 
in  the  old  North  Buryinfj-jjround.  This  house  must  be  more  than  two  centuries  old, 
and  it  is  the  only  structure  in  the  State  of  which  any  fragment  remains  in  any  way 
identified  with  the  memory  of  Williams. 

If  the  sketch  ol  Westminster  Street  had  been  extended  to  take  in  a  longer  rantrc, 
one  striking  jK-culiarity  of  Providence  would  have  been  seen — and  that  is  the  singular 
mixture,  in  the  business  portions  of  the  city,  of  ancient  dwelling-houses,  now  converted 
into  shops;  temporary  structures  of  wood,  not  more  than  ten  or  fifteen  feet  in  height, 
which  pay  an  annual  rental  about  .'nual  to  their  original  cost;  and  lofty  structures  of 
brick,  and  sti)ne,  anil  iron,  as  costly  and  magnificent  as  can  be  found  in  any  citv  of  (Ik- 
Union.  One  such  iiuikling  has  just  been  erected  bv  Mr.  Alexander  Duncan,  and  known 
as  the  !"atler  Exchange,  the  |)roportions  of  which  are  colossal;  and  it  is  a  modil  ol 
beajiy,  as  it  is  of  practical  convenience. 

It  is  not  altogether  creditable  to  the  city  that  there  is  no  civic  building  of  anv 
description  that  deserves  notice.  The  old  State-House  is  an  un|)retending  structure,  in- 
convenitnt  and  intirelv  inade(]uate  for  the  various  uses  to  which  it  is  devoted,  and  with 
no  pretension  to  elegance.  Measures,  however,  have  been  taken  with  a  view  to  tlir 
speedy  erection  of  a  new  edifice,  wiiich,  it  is  to  be  hoped,  will  fairly  represent  the  wealth 
and  culture  of  the  citv  and  the  State.  The  City-Hall  is  an  old  market-house,  from  which 
the  stalls  were  exclude<l  to  make  room  for  the  municipal  authorities,  and  consists  ol  lour 
plain  brick-walls,  with  a  roof  above,  and  is  a  disgrace  to  the  town.  It  is  somewh,at 
strange  that,  in  a  eilv  which  abounds  in  splendid  private  residences,  there  should  ikmi 
have  bein  enough  |)u!ilie  s|)int  to  erect  a  respectable  civic  edifice,  or  to  build  an  hotel 
that   is  worthy  of  the  name. 

The  ecclesiastical  architecture  of  Provitlence  is  of  a  mixed  character,  some  of  the 
'churches  being  plain  and  ugly,  some  ap|)roximating  so  nearly  to  a  correct  standard  that 
one  cannot  help  mourning  over  their  incidental  defects  and  spindling  spires,  while  otluis 
are  decidedly  correct  and  somewhat   impressive  in  their  architecture. 

The  I'iist  Uaptisi  Meeting-I  louse,  of  which  we  have  a  sketch  under  the  tiilc  ot 
"The  Old  Landmark,"  was  erected  in  i774-'75,  and  is  eighty  feet  square,  with  a  spire  a 
bundled  and  ninety-six  feet  liigh.  The  exterior  has  remained  unaltered  from  the  lugin- 
ning,  and  presents  a  |tleasing  and  pietures<|ue  appearance.  The  steeple  is  copied  from 
one  of  Sir  Christopher  Wren's  churches  in  London,  and  is  singiilarlv  symmetrical  and 
beautiful.  The  edifice  stands  in  an  open  square,  on  the  side  of  a  hill,  and  is  surioi  nded 
bv  trees.  The  society  that  worships  here  was  founded  by  Koger  Williams,  dm  his  arriyal 
in  Providence,  and  claim'-  to  be  the  oldest  church  of  the  haptist  denomination  in 
America.  Mr.  Williams,  however,  continued  to  be  its  pastor  for  only  four  years,  when 
he  withdrew,  n»)t  only  from    his    official    relations,  but  also   tx-ased  any  longer  to  wor'.|ii|i 


mucl  Whipitle, 
person  buried 
centuries  old, 

ns  in  any  way 

a  longer  ranjre, 
is  the  siniful.ir 
now  converted 
feet  in  heiolit, 
[y  structures  of 
any  city  of  the 
:an,  and  known 
is  a  model  of 

)uilding   of  any 

ng  structure,  in- 

■votcd,  and  with 

a    view    to    tiie 

csent  the  wealth 

ouse,  from  whiili 

consists  of  lour 

It  is  somewhat 

re   should    never 

o  build  an  hotel 

cr,  some  of  the 
■ct  standard  that 
res,  while  others 

ler    the    title    ot 

,  with  a  spiie  a 

from  the  iiegin- 

is   eo|)iid   hum 

svmmetrical   and 

lid  is  surroi  nded 

ns,  on  his  arrival 

ei\i)niin;Uion    in 

four   years,  when 

)nL'^<'r  to  woislii|i 


y- 


•^  /■  ■ 


•OBNEa    IN     PRUVIUENCB 


502 


PIC  TURliSOUli    AMHKICA. 


with  his  brethren,  havinp^  come  to  the  conclusion  tliat  ti)cre  is  "  no  regularly-constituted 
Churcli  on  eartli,  nor  any  person  authorized  to  administer  any  Church  ordinance ;  nor 
could  there  he,  until  new  apostles  were  sent  by  the  great  Head  of  the  Church,  for  whose 
coming  he  was  seeking."  During  his  time,  and  for  many  years  after,  public  services 
were  held  in  a  grove,  excepting  in  stormy  weather,  wiien  the  people  assembled  in  a 
private  house  for  worship.  The  tirst  meeting-house  was  built  about  the  year  1 700,  at 
the  expense  of  Pardon  Tillingiiast,  the  pastor,  wiio  at  his  death  betjueathed  the  prop- 
erty to  the  parisii  In  1726,  a  new  and  larger  house  was  erected,  and  the  record  of  the 
great  dinner  given  on  tiiis  occasion  indicates  a  degree  of  frugality  in  striking  contrast  to 


V-— j";ir-v 


Whipple's  llriilne  on  IIIackKtimc  Kivir. 


the  lavish  expenditure  of  our  times.  The  l)ill-<)f-fare  consists  of  one  slieep,  one  pound 
of  butter,  two  loaves  of  iiread,  and  half  a  >^ccV  of  peas-  total  cost,  twenty-seven  shil- 
lings. The  bell  wITun  was  originallv  hung  in  the  lower  of  the  present  church  iujre  tliiv 
inscription  : 

"lor  froi'dom  of  <  onscicncc,  the  town  was  first  planted: 
Persuasion,   nut  force,  w.ns  used  by  the  people. 
Tli.s  chiirrh  is  the  eldest,  and  has  not  rceanted, 

ICnjoying  .nnd  granting  bell,  temple,  and  steeple." 

In  the  course  of  a  few  years  this  bell  was  destroyed,  and  that  which  was  snbstituttil 
in  its  |<lace  gave  such  olTenee  to  ihe  pidilic    that    an   allempt   was  made   lo   break    it   willi 


ilarly-constitutcd 
ordinance ;  nor 
[lurch,  for  wliosc 
,  public  services 
assembled  in  a 
le  year  i  you,  at 
athed  the  prop- 
le  record  of  the 
king  contrast  to 


ii  i 


licej),  one   pound 

wenlv-seven    stnl- 

tluirch  l)ore  lliiv 


I  was    subslifiitnl 
to  break   it   wilii 


M 


504 


PICTURESQUE    AMERICA. 


a  slcdfit -hammer,  which,  however,  resulted  only  in  knocking  olT  a  small  chip  from  the 
edge.  This  may  have  resulted  in  restoring  the  right  tone  to  the  hell,  for  it  continues 
to  ring  the  hour  of  noon  and  tiie  nine-o'clock  vespers  down  to  the  present  day,  and  is 
thought  to  be  pleasant  and  musical. 

Grice  Church,  of  which  we  have  a  sketch  in  the  picture  of  Westminster  Street,  was 
built  in  1845,  of  brown-stone,  after  a  plan  furnished  by  Mr.  Richard  Upjohn,  and  is 
seventy-seven  feet  broad  and  a  hundred  and  forty-seven  feet  in  lengtii.  At  the  time  of 
its  erection  it  was  regariled  as  one  of  the  finest  churches  in  New  England ;  and,  in 
solidity  of  construction  and  beauty  of  proportion,  it  is  even  now  surpassed  by  few 
ecclesiastical  structures. 

We  should  exceed  our  limits  if  we  undertook  to  describe  other  church  edifices  in 
Prov'.ence  whicii  are  worthy  of  being  noted;  and  therefoie  we  pass  at  once  to  speak  of 
the  Saite  Hospital,  a  distant  view  of  whicii  may  be  seen  in  an  accompanying  illustration 
This  noble  structure  stands  on  an  elevation  of  about  seventy  feet  above  the  sea,  o|)cn 
to  the  breezes  of  the  bay,  and  commanding  a  beautiful  and  extended  prospect.  Tlic 
area  which  surrounds  the  buildings  covers  twelve  acres;  and  its  graceful  undulations  of 
su'face,  shaded  walks,  lofty  trees,  and  artistic  shrubbery,  rellected  in  a  miniature  lake, 
c(  mbine  to  make  it  one  of  the  most  attractive  spots  within  the  circuit  of  the  city.  It 
V  as  erected  entiiely  by  private  munificence,  not  less  than  five  hundred  and  forty-seven 
thousand  dollars  iiaving  been  already  contributed  for  building-expenses  and  endowments, 
and  an  expenditure  of  forty  thousand  more  will  be  needed  to  comi)lete  the  inteiior. 
"  For  the  beauty  of  (lie  exterior  of  tiie  buildings  we  are  indebted  to  the  taste  and  taknt 
of  A.  C.  Morse,  Esq.,  architect — not  merely  for  the  fineness  of  proportion  and  nobleness 
of  effect,  but  for  the  admirable  combinations  of  color  and  the  skilful  employment  of  tlic 
architectural  material  that  New  England  produces.  In  this  part  of  the  world  Nature 
has  not  iieeii  bountiful  in  the  variety  of  building-material  she  affords.  The  everlastiiiii 
but  intractable  granite  is  almost  our  only  stone;  bricks  of  excellent  quality  and  nf 
superior  color  ct)nstitute  our  chief  means  of  duiable  buildinsj: ;  •>  small  (juantity  d 
red  sandstone  is  furnished  by  the  quarries  of  Connectieul.  These  thiee  substances 
have  been  em|)loyed  by  our  architect  almost  in  the  |)ro|)ortion  that  is  here  indieated 
— with  what  admirable  and  novel  effect,  we  leave  to  the  ap|)reciation  of  every  be- 
holder, 'ihe  style  is  a  pure  example  of  Italian  (iothic;  no  ni(,re  perfect  specimen  of 
this  style  can  be  found  even  in  the  old  cities  of  Northern  Italy,  where,  being  confined 
to  the  same  materials,  the  ancient  Italian  architects  carried  their  use  to  such  a  deuur 
of  |)erfection  that  modern  architects  from  all  countries  resort  for  the  study  of  their  art 
to  the  cities  of  Modena,  Pavia,  Mantua,  and  \'erona."  A  careful  inspection  was  ninie 
of  the  'test  lios|)itals  in  this  country  and  abroad,  before  the  |)lans  for  the  interior  \m  n 
adopted;  and  in  every  respect  this  institution  represents  the  mosi  advanced  inqjidvc- 
ments  in  construction,  and   is  a   model   of  comjileteness  and  excellence.     The  main  fi^nt 


PROVIDENCE    AND    VICINITY. 


505 


1  chip  from  the 
for  it  contiiuiL's 
sent  day,  and  is 

lister  Street,  was 
ITpjohn,  and  is 
At  the  time  of 
•ln<>land  ;  and,  in 
irpassed    by    few 

hureh  edifices  in 
)nce  to  speak  of 
nyincj  illustration 
ive   the  sea,  open 
1    prospect.     The 
il   undulations  of 
a    miniature   lake, 
t  of  tile  city,     it 
I    and    forty-seven 
and  endowments, 
plete   the    interior, 
e  taste  and  talent 
ion  and  nobleness 
niployment  of  tiie 
the  world    Natun' 
The   everlastintj 
It    (jiiality   and   of 
small   (luantity   of 
three    substances 
is    here    imlieatcd 
ion    (if    every    ln- 
erfect  specimen  of 
•re,  beinjr  eonfimd 
to   such    a    decree 
study  of  their    irt 
;pcction  was   ni;i(ic 
the    interior   wire 
idvanced    im|)rove- 
;.     The  main  front 


extends  a  little  more  than  four  hundred  feet.  In  the  month  of  October,  1868,  the  hos- 
pital was  opened  with  appropriate  ceremonies,  and  is  now  filled  with  patients  to  its 
utmost  capacity. 

The    Soldiers  and  Sailors'  Monument    stands  in   an    open    square   adjoining:   the    rail- 
road-station, and  was   erected    in    1871,  in  accordance  with  a   vote  of  the    State   Legisla- 


Mi\rKK(itk    luiMimi; 


tare,  at  a  cost  of  about  si.xty  thousand  dollars.  It  was  modellid  In  Mr.  Randolph 
Ropers,  in  Rome;  and  the  castinys  were  made  in  Munich,  undir  liis  direction.  I'rom 
the  level  of  the  ground  to  the  top  of  llie  monument  it  is  forty-six  Icel,  and  tiie  fieneral 
a|  pearance  of  the  structure  is  very  imposiny.  Il  is  surmounted  by  a  female  fipure  in 
liionze,  eleven   feel    high,  representing  .\nurica   at   tiie  close   of  the    late   war.      The   left 


^mmmSimmiSmiSSm 


506 


PICTURESQUE    AMERICA. 


hand  is  resting  on  a  sword,  and  holdintr  a  wrcatii  of  immortelles ;  and  the  right  hand, 
extending,  iiolds  a  wreatii  of  laurels,  as  if  to  crown  the  heroes  of  the  war.  The  figure 
is  draped  in  ciassie  rohes,  hanging  easily  and  naturally  around  the  form.  The  face  is  be- 
nign, and  full  of  expression.  Beneath  the  plinth  upon  which  the  statue  stands  are  stars 
and  wreaths  of  oak  and  laurel  in  bronze.  Upon  the  face  of  the  next  section  arc  liie 
arms  of  the  State  of  Rhode  Island,  while  in  the  rear  are  the  arms  of  the  United  States. 
On  the  angles  are  flisces,  indicating  that  in  union  there  is  strength.  On  the  next  sec- 
tion, at  the  front,  are  the  dedication  words :  "  Erected  by  the  people  of  the  State  of 
Rhode  Island  to  the  memory  of  the  brave  men  who  died  that  their  country  might  live." 
Upon  the  next  section  stand  four  bronze  figures,  seven  feet  and  three  inches  in  heigiit, 
representing  the  infantry,  cavalry,  artillery,  and  navy.  They  are  clad  in  appropriate  uni- 
forms, and  bear  the  arms  and  insignia  of  their  several  departinents  of  service.  Four 
bronze  bassi-rilicvi,  size  of  life,  appear  upon  the  next  section,  representing  War,  Victor)^, 
Emancipation,  ana  Peace.  War  appears  with  sword  and  shield,  Victory  as  an  angel 
bearing  the  sword  and  palm.  Emancipation  as  a  freed-woman  with  broken  chains,  and 
Peace  with  tiie  olive-branch  and  horn  of  plenty.  On  the  projecting  abutments  are 
twelve  panels,  containing  bronze  tablets  on  which  are  engraved  the  names  of  the  heroic 
dead — in  all,  seventeen  hundred  and  forty-one.  There  are  few  commemorative  columns 
in  the;  country  as  thoroughly  artistic  as  this. 

We  now  ])ass  to  the  outskirts  of  Providence,  in  a  northwesterly  direction,  and,  as 
we  (hive  through  a  small  manufacturing  settlement,  we  come  upon  a  little,  df)uble-archcd 
bridge,  where  we  can  get  a  fair  idea  of  the  general  style  of  scenery  which  is  peculiar  tn 
the  region.  It  has  no  startling  features,  no  striking  contrasts  in  the  landscape,  no  moun- 
tains, no  boKl  iiorizoii,  but  there  are  pleasant  walks  by  the  side  of  running  streams, 
siiadv  nooks  and  alcoves  in  the  woods,  with  an  occasional  glimpse  of  the  distant  waters 
of  the  bay,  which  gives  a  ehecrfid  life  to  a  picture  that  would  otherwise  be  somewhat 
tame  and  niouotonous.  The  territory  of  this  State  is  so  limited,  and  what  there  is 
appears  on  the  map  to  be  so  intersected  by  water,  that  people  sometimes  smile  when 
we  speak  of  the  iiilcrioy  of  Rhode  Island,  as  if  it  must  be  all  border,  and  ;;till  it  is 
possible  for  one  to  drive  a  score  or  two  of  miles,  in  a  stiaight  line,  without  getting  out- 
side the  limits. 

But,  apart  from  the  regions  which  border  upon  Narragansett  Bay  and  the  ocean, 
there  are  few  features  in  the  landscape  that  would  arrest  the  artist's  attention.  Tlu' 
broad  sheet  of  water  which  opens  directly  south  of  Providence,  and  stretches  ft)r  thirty 
miles  down  to  the  Atlantic,  constitutes  the  great  .attraction  of  this  Commonwealth.  The 
rivers  emptying  into  the  bay,  whose  falling  waters  are  used  o.'cr  and  over  again  to  \w\- 
ptl  the  great  wheels  of  our  manufactories,  are  the  main  source  of  the  marvellous  riches 
of  the  State  ;  while  hundreds  of  thousands  are  drawn  every  year  to  the  summer  resorts 
which  line  the  shores  and  adorn  the  islands  of  Narragansett  Bay. 


PROVIDENCE    AND    VICINITY. 


507 


;  right  hand, 

The  fij^urc 
\e  face  is  be- 
mds  arc  stars 
:tion   are   I  lie 
Jnited  States. 
the   next   see- 
the   State   of 
ry  might  live." 
ches  in  hciizht, 
ppropriate  uni- 
scrvice.      Vt'tir 

War,  Victory, 
ry  as  an  an.m'l 
;cn    chains,  and 

abutments  arc 
;s  of  the  heroic 
orative  columns 

direction,  and,  as 

rlc,  double-arched 

h  is  peculiar  to 

Iscape,  no  moun- 

runninp;   streams, 

H-  distant  waters 


'ise 


be  somewliat 
A   what    there   is 


times  smile 


when 


,r,  and   rtill  ii   i'^ 
hout  petting  out- 

,v  and  the   ocean, 
attention.     '1 1'^' 
;tretches  for  thiilv 
nmonwealth.    Tlif 
,vcM-  again  to  pn- 
marvellous  riches 
ic  summer  resorts 


The  sketch  of  Mark  Rock 
Landing,  with  the  steamer 
touching  at  the  wharf,  might 
be  repeated  almost  indefi- 
nitely. Tor  miles  and  miles 
on  both  sides  of  the  bay, 
places  of  resort  for  summer 
visitors  have  been  estab- 
lished ;  while  the  towns  of 
I'awtuxet,  East  Greenwich, 
Warwick,  Wickford,  and 
Kingston,  on  the  western 
shore,  and  Nayatt,  Barring- 
ton,  Warren,  Hristol,  Ports- 
mouth, Middletown,  and  the 
world  -  renowned  Newport, 
furnish  salubrious  and  attrac- 
tive residences  for  permanent 
as  well  as  for  temporary  do- 
micil.  Let  us  linger  for  a 
while  at  Ro(,-ky  I\)iut,  on 
Warwick  Neck,  about  twelve 
miles  south  of  Providence, 
and  see  what  it  is  which 
attracts  such  multitudes  to 
this  spot.  When  we  are 
told  that,  in  the  summer  of 
1S72,  not  fewer  than  two 
hundred  thousano  persons 
landed  here  —  there  being 
more  than  twelve  thousand 
visitors  in  a  single  day — 
ami  that  steamboats,  crcvded 
to  repletion  with  passengers, 
deposit  their  burdens  here 
cijfJit  times  every  day  ;  that 
imr  of  the  several  dining- 
riioms  connected  with  the 
liiitcl     covers     a     space     of 


5o8 


PICTURESQUE    AMERICA. 


eighteen  thousand  square 
feet,  and  can  seat  fifteen 
liundred  persons,  while,  in 
the  height  of  the  season, 
notwithstanding  these  libcuil 
accommodations,  many  arc 
sent  hungr)'  away,  we  may 
l)e  certain  that  the  place 
possesses  some  very  peculiar 
attractions.  Shady  groves, 
pleasant  walks,  romantic  cav- 
erns, a  smooth  beach,  salubri- 
ous air,  and  beautiful  views, 
arc  among  the  natural  feat- 
ures which  attract  the  wcaiT 
and  the  seekers  after  pleas- 
ure and  rejiose.  From  the 
high  tower  which  appears  in 
our  artist's  sketch,  the  whole 
bay,  from  Providence  to 
Newport,  with  the  Atlantic 
in  the  distance,  comes  within 
the  reach  of  the  observer's 
eye.  All  the  resources  of 
art  have  been  levied  upon 
to  increase  the  attractiveness 
of  the  place — fountains  with- 
in-doors,  and  others  discharfj- 
ing  their  jets  into  basins  in 
the  open  air ;  beds  of  llowcrs, 
and  rustic  flower-baskets  and 
evergreens,  set  oil  willi  arti- 
ficial floral  decorations ;  ruins 
covered  with  running  vines, 
and  fish-ponds  glittering  wiili 
varieties  of  the  most  lieaiui- 
ful  fish,  to  which  is  about 
to  be  added  another  pmd 
for  seals,  and  a  deer-park. 


n 


lusancl  square 
1  seat  fifteen 
ons,  while,  in 
)f  the  season, 
ig  these  libeiiil 
ins,  many  are 
away,  we  may 
that  the  place 
le  very  peculiar 

Shady  s™^''^^> 
s,  romantic  cav- 
h  beach,  saluhri- 

beautiful  views, 
he  natural  feat- 
ttract  the  weary 
iers  after  ])leas- 
ose.  From  tlie 
vhich  appears  in 
ketch,  the  whole 

Providence     to 
ith   the   Atlantic 
ice,  comes  within 
)f    the   observer's 
he    resources   of 
Ecn    levied    upon 
the  attractiveness 
;— fountains  with- 
i  others  discharfj- 
:ts  into  basins  in 
■ ;  beds  of  flowers, 
flower-baskets  and 
set  off  with  arli- 
decorations;  ruins 
th    running  vines, 
nds  glittering  witli 
■  the  most  beauti- 
()   which   is   about 
led    another    p' nd 
,nd  a  deer-park. 


^^ 


VfriL 


IH 


H 


^'    H 


V\\    w 


.1 


1 


>^^ 


PROVIDHNCI    AND    IICINITV. 


509 


But,  after  all,  the  great  feature  of  the  place  is  the  clam-bakc,  an  institu:ion  of  which 
Rhode-Islanders  are  proud,  and  icgard  as  a  connecting  link  that  binds  them  to  the  old 
Narragansctts,  with  whom  it  originated.  The  culinary  process  may  be  briefly  described  : 
A  lire  of  wood  is  built  in  the  open  ai.',  upon  a  layer  of  large  stones,  arranged  in  a  cir- 
cular form,  and,  when  they  have  become  sufficiently  heated,  the  embers  and  ashes  are 
swept  off,  and  a  quantity  of  clams  in  the  shell  poured  upon  the  stones,  which  are  imme- 
diately covered  with  a  thick  layer  of  fresh  sea-weed,  and  this  is  also  protected  from  the 
CDoling  effects  of  the  atmosphere  by  an  old  sail-cloth.  In  due  time  the  coverings  are 
removed  and  the  feasting  begins.  Thousands  of  bushels  of  clams  are  thus  consumed  at 
Rocky  Point  during  every  season,  and  when  they  all  come  from  is  a  mvstery,  for  the 
neighboring  shores  are  so  constantly  dug  over  that  there  would  seem  to  be  litJe  chance 
for  the  infant  shell-iish  to  attain  maturity. 

Passing  down  the  west  passage  of  the  biv  and  reaching  the  open  sea,  we  come 
u|)on  Narragansett  Pier,  wliere  the  broad  ocean  rolls  in  full  force,  and  there  is  no  land 
that  can  be  readied  in  an  easterly  line  uritil  we  touch  the  shores  of  Spain.  The  struct- 
ure from  which  the  region  takes  its  name,  and  the  ruins  of  which  may  be  seen  in  the 
jiicture,  was  erected  a  few  years  since,  at  considerable  cost,  of  heavy  blocks  of  granite, 
clamped  together  with  iron  bolts.  The  curve  of  the  wall  made  a  small  harbor  within, 
where  vessels  might  lie  and  discharge  their  cargoes,  without  the  danger  of  being  destroyed 
by  the  winds  and  waves.  It  was  presumed  that  this  massive  pile  of  rock  would  be 
strong  enougii  \.o  defy  the  power  of  the  ocean,  but  the  first  heavy  storm  gave  it  a  blow 
from  which,  it  never  recovered,  and  successive  tempests  have  torn  away  the  iron  clampi; 
and  tumbled  the  huge  stoiies  into  a  heap  of  ruins. 

Until  a  comparatively  recent  dale  this  place  was  a  waste,  and  occupied  only  by  a 
few  fish"rmen's  houses,  but  a  strange  change  has  now  come  over  tiie  sceric.  A  thousand 
bathers  may  be  seen,  on  a  warm  summer  day,  crowding  the  beach  thai  was  once  so  still 
and  solitary  ;  and  not  fewer  than  eighteen  hotels  and  boarding-houses  have  been  erecteti 
along  the  shore,  some  of  them  elegant  and  costly  and  of  vast  dimensions.  I'eople  from 
all  parts  of  the  Union  Hock  to  this  spot,  for  the  sake  of  breathing  the  cool  ccean-air, 
,md  plunging  in* the  waves,  and  watching  the  i)reakeis,  as  they  dash  upon  the  high,  pre- 
cipitous rocks  that  line  the  shore,  at  a  little  distance  south  of  the  smooth,  hard  beach 
where  tlu'  bathing  is  done.  ,\rtists  say  there  aie  no  rocks  01.  our  coasts  so  rich  and 
varied  in  llieir  coloring  as  these— south  of  this  ledge  there  are,  inditd,  no  rocks  at  all 
111)  the  .American  shoie,  until  vou  reach  the  reef  of  Plorid.i.  "  Indian  Kotk,"  of  which 
we  give  a  view  on  steel,  from  a  painting  liv  I  lazclline,  is  named  from  an  old  tra- 
dition, which  declares  there  are  red  stains  of  Indian  blood  upon  it,  which  the  waves 
have  never  been  al)le  to  wash  ofT—a  st<»ry  almost  as  will  founded  as  many  other  aborigi- 
nil  legends. 


THE  SOUTH  SHORE  OF  LAKE  ERIE. 


WITH    ILLUSTRATIONS    I!Y   J.    DuLliLAS    WOODWARD. 


i'.ik'  (  aiijl    ilavin  iiikI   Llcvnlor,    IIuIiaIii 


A  M().\(i  iIr-  live  fiical  lakes  of  the  Wcstnii  cliain,  I'rir  occupii's  the  fomlh  pliicc 
■^  *•  as  ivjfanls  si/r,  tlu-  last  place  in  poiiil  of  IkmuIv,  and  no  phur  at  all  in  idniainc. 
Lakes  liavf  tluir  natures  as  distinctly  niaiUcd  as  Mic  liunian  tliildiin  who  Ir'.uI  linn 
shores.  (Jne  rliild  is  imajjinative,  and  the  lirotlur  luxl  in  aj^c  has  a  deadly-practicil 
mind;  one  sister  is  luautilul,  and  anollur  without  a  charm;  the  children  of  the  saiiie 
parents  jfiow  up  as  diirennt  as  though  horn  in  the  four  ditTereiit  (|uart(rs  of  the  earth, 
and  vet   the  inlhiences  around  them  are  the  same.      In  like  manner,  the   sister-lakes,  join- 


THE    COUTH    SHORE    OF   LAKE    ERIE. 


5" 


in<j    hands    from     Minnesota 
to  the  ocean,  have   their   dis- 
tinct  characteristics;   each,  in 
turn,  comes  to  the  front  witli 
her  one  superlative  adjective, 
whose  fitness  cannot  be  ques- 
tioned, but  whose  rank  in  the 
sc;i1l  varies   according;  to  tlie 
temperament  of  the  traveller, 
as,  with  guide-book    in    hand 
and    glar.ses    sluns;    from    his 
shoulder,    he    stands    on     the 
11 1 1  row    forward    deck    of   tiie 
|)roj)eller   whose    sharp    bows 
point  toward  Ciiicago  or  Du- 
Uiih.      Thus,   grand    Superior 
is  tiie  most  mysterious  of  the 
lakes,  its  iiorthern  shores  i-ven 
now  i)ut  half  explored,  strange 
tal'-s   of   its   gold    and   silve/, 
ami-thysts  and  rubies,  tin  and 
copper,    being    i)rought    ilown 
li\  tlie  fur-traders  and  hunters 
In  old    I'ort  William  and  the 
Siill.     Thus,  sea-green  Mich- 
igan is  tiie  most  beautiful    of 
the   lakes,  with  its  islands,  its 
s'lifiing    silver    fogs,   its    long 
("iiVen    Hay,    and    the    unsui- 
jiaocd    Straits    of    Mackinac. 
Tluis,  blue  Huron  is  the  most 
minantic  of  the  chain.     It   has 
11  1  towns  to   bring    one    back 
to  reality;   the  steamer  glides 
iviiihward  without  the  prosaic 
unloading  of  freight,  and,  if  it 
sto|>s  at  all,  il  is  at  some  Utile 
Ii'l: -wharf,  where  the  wil(l-lo»ik- 
iii'i    lumber-men    b.-ing  down 


Hi 


i  » 


pjr 


'li-M 


'W 


5" 


P/C  TURESO  UE    A  ME  RICA. 


their  loads  of  wood,  with  shouts  and  roucrh  cries,  while  the  passcnjjers  wander  into  the 
primitive  forest  of  the  New  World  to  gather  the  iiardy  blue-bells  and  Indian  pijxs,  or 
stroll  along  the  beach,  searching  for  veined  agates.  An  atmosphere  of  romance  rests 
over  Lake  Huron;  its  depth,  its  color,  and  its  wild  solitude,  bring  to  the  surHicc  all  ilie 
latent  poetry  in  the  tourist's  heart ;  and  the  same  man  who  sleeps  through  Ontario,  talks 
"iron"  on  Superior,  "grain"  on  Michigan,  and  "oil"  on  Erie,  will  surprise  you  with  sen- 
timent on  Saginaw's  landless  expanse,  and  verses  off  the  blue  headland  of  Thunder  Hav, 
Poor  Ontario  is  crushed  by  Niagara  Falls;  if  the  lake  is  seen  first,  its  placid  memorv  is 
effaced  by  the  great  cataract,  and,  if  afterward,  eyes  wearied  with  admiration  generally 
sleep  over  its  gray  waters,  and  only  waken  for  the  thousand  islands  of  the  Si.  Lawrence. 
Vet  Ontario  has  its  adjective,  and  is  not  without  its  partisans,  for  it  is  unquestionaliiy 
the  safest  of  the  chain. 

Brown  Erie  has  now  its  turn.  It  possesses  the  most  historical  interest.  It  lias 
relics,  antiiputics,  the  memory  of  many  battles  on  land,  and  one  important  naval  en- 
gagement on  its  waters.  From  old  Port  Schlosser,  on  the  Niagara  River,  in  the  cast, 
to  the  ancient  post  on  the  Detroit,  in  the  west,  the  shores  of  Erie  are  full  of  inten  t 
to  the  future  historian  of  the  lake-country.  They  v.-ait  for  his  coming ;  their  waves  hide 
the  sunken  timbers  of  British  vessels;  their  banks  hold  in  store  for  him  the  rusty  swords 
and  muskets  of  the  days  before  the  Revolution ;  their  sand-beaches  cover  cannon  and 
bateaux ;  and  their  rocks  preserve  the  inscriptions  of  the  lost  tribe  of  Erics,  driven  in  a 
day  from  the  face  of  the  earth  by  the  fierce  Iroquois,  as  long  ago  as  1665.  The  lake 
has  its  heroes,  also,  and  its  sayings,  famou;-.  all  over  the  land,  i^ontiac's  spirit  haunts 
the  mouth  of  the  lovely  Detroit  River;  Tecumseh  flits  through  the  woods  on  shore; 
the  name  of  Ferry  is  associated  with  the  western  islands;  and  the  memory  of  m,;d 
Anthony  \Vayne  hangs  over  Fres(iuc  Isle  now  lirie.  It  was  on  th^  Detroit  River  that 
Logan  died — Logan,  whose  sad  words  are  well  knt.wn  in  everi' school-house  in  the  land: 
"  Tiiere  runs  not  a  drop  of  my  blood  in  the  veins  of  any  human  creature.  Who  is 
there  to  mourn  for  Logan?  Not  one.'  It  was  on  the  north  :''•  re  of  Lake  Erie,  at  the 
head  of  his  little  band,  that  Tecumseh  stood,  and,  waving  his  hand  over  the  lake,  sjiokc 
to  the  British  general,  his  ally:  "If  you  wish  to  retreat,  give  us  arms;  and  you  may  go, 
and  welcome.  As  for  us,  our  lives  arc  in  the  hands  of  the  (Ircat  vSpirit ;  we  will  defend 
our  lands  to  the  last,  and,  if  it  be  his  will,  we  will  leave  our  bones  \\\w\\  this  shore." 
It  was  at  I'ut-in-Hay,  among  the  Lake-Erie  islands,  that  Commodore  I'erry  wrote  iiis 
famous  dispatch:  "We  have  met  the  enemy,  and  they  are  ours."  At  I'rescpie  Isle  (li(d 
mad  Anthony,  whose  field-order  is  as  laconic  as  General  Di.x's  "Shoot  him  on  the  spot." 
Before  the  battle  of  I'allcn  Timbers,  in  1794,  not  far  from  the  present  city  of  Toledo, 
(lenerai  Harrison,  then  aide  to  Wayne,  addressed  his  superior:  "General  Wayne,  I  ani 
airaid  you  will  get  into  the  light  yourself,  and  forget  to  give  me  the  necessary  field- 
orders."     "  I'erliaps   1   may,"  nplicd   mad  Anthony   -"  perhaps   1    may;   and,  if  I    do,  recol- 


nder  into  the 
lian  pipes,  or 
omance  rusts 
;urface  all  the 
Ontario,  talks 
you  with  sen- 
Thunder  Bay. 
:id  memory  is 
tion  generally 
Si.  Lawrence, 
unquestionably 

erest.      It   has 
tant    naval   en- 
.T,  in   the   .ast, 
full  of  inten  t 
icir  waves  hide 
he  rusty  swords 
cr   cannon   and 
rics,  driven  in  a 
665.     Tiie  lake 
's   spirit    haunts 
Dods   on    shore; 
lemory    of  ni,;d 
troit    River  tliat 
ise  in  the  l;ind : 
■aturc.      Who  i^ 
ike  Mrie,  at  the 
tire  lake,  spoke 
nd  you  may  }j;o, 
we  will  defend 
u)n    this   shore." 
'erry  wrote   liis 
us(iuc    Isle  died 
in  on  the  spot." 
city  of  Toledo, 
al  Wayne,  1  am 
necessary  fuM- 
1,  if  I    do,  reeol- 


MAIN     SIMEEI,       UUKf/VLU,       FHOM     ST     I'AllL'S     CHUHCH. 


SH 


PICTURESQUE    AMERICA. 


Gr.iin-rriipcUer,    liulValo. 

lect   that    tlie   standiii<!;   order    for   tlic   day    is,   Charjje   tlic   d — d    rascals   with   the   hayo- 
nets  ! " 

Lake  I-lric  is  two  hundred  and  fifty  miles  lonjr,  sixty  miles  broad,  and  two  hundird 
and  four  feet  at  its  greatest  depth,  although,  on  an  average,  it  is  not  more  than  ninety 
feet  deep.  Compared  with  the  other  lakes,  it  is  shallow;  and  the  dilTerenee  has  Ircii 
described  as  follows :  "  The  sur[)lus  waters  pour  .  from  the  vast  basins  of  Superior, 
Michigan,  and  Huron,  (low  across  the  philc  of  I'jie  into  the  dec|)  bozol  of  Ontario." 
Lake  Erie  is  the  only  member  of  the  chain  which  is  reputed  to  have  any  current.  Tlie 
current,  if  there  is  one,  is  probably  (twing  to  its  shallow  bed,  and  the  great  force  of  its 
outlet,  the  Niagara  Kiver.  Hut  it  has  another  reputation,  which  is  founded  on  certainty; 
it  is  the  most  dangerous  of  the  fresli-water  seas.  Its  waves  are  short  and  chop|)ing,  its 
harbors  insecure,  especially  along  the  northern  shore,  and  it  has  little  sea-room.  Tlic 
mouths  of  its  streams  are  clogged  with  sand-bars;  and  in  llie  early  days,  before  ini|)r()\L- 
ments  were  made,  the  lake-captains  kept  out  in  the  olTnig,  and  landed  tiieir  cargoes  in 
small  boats,  rather  than  risk  the  perils  of  the  so-called  harbors.  Kven  now,  in  tlic 
storms  of  autumn,  vessels  drive  bv  tlie  south-shore  ports,  running  for  the  shelter  of  tlie 
islanJs  rather  than  attem|)ting  to  enter  the  narrow  rivers,  with  their  lines  of  sj)il(S, 
which  stand,  like  so  many  tenter-hooks,  to  im|)ale  the  incoming  ship.  Little  tugs- ;i II 
engine  and  smoke — lie  on  and  olT  these  harbors,  waiting  for  lo»vs;  no  doubt,  they  are 
usehil,  but  none  the  less  ugly,  bustling,  pert  little  monsters,  ducking  under  iridges  with 
their  smoke-stacks   oi.    hinges,  whistling,  |)uiring,  and   snorting,  so    that    a    listener   might 


THE    SOUTH    SHORE    OF   LAKE    ERIE. 


515 


with   the   havo- 


tliink  an  ocean-steamer  was  cominij  in,  instead  of  a  grimy  dwarf  with  some  such 
melodious  name  as  Old  Jack.  Having  obtained  its  tow,  a  mile  or  two  out,  and  fastened 
on  to  its  prey,  the  tug  takes  the  bit  in  its  teeth,  and  comes  snorting  into  port.  Behind 
it  glides  the  graceful  vessel,  her  sails  slowly  coming  down,  cloud  after  cloud,  until,  as  her 
hows  reach  the  river-piers,  there  is  nothing  left  hut  a  jih,  and  the  lines  of  rope  and  rig- 
ging stand  bare  against  the  sky. 

The  rivers  are  docked,  and  rows  of  canal-boats  usurp  their  sides — canal-boats  decked 
with  lines  of  drying  clothes,  for  it  always  seems  to  be  washing-day  on  a  canal-boat.  A 
giant  elevator  is  sucking  grain  from  the  hold  of  one  vessel ;  red  iron  from  Lake  Supe- 
rior is  being  unloaded  from  another;  wood  from  Lake  Huron,  and  limestone  from  the 
western  islands,  are  coming  in ;  coal  and  petroleum  .ire  going  out ;  and  the  lines  of 
slow-moving  lumber-barges,  the  schooners  and  barks,  the  canal-boats,  proiiellers,  and  side- 
wheel  steamers,  have  only  the  narrow,  crooked  river  for  a  roadway.  The  incoming  tug 
catches  a  sight  of  all  this  confusion  from  the  light-house  at  the  end  of  the  pier,  and 
whistles  defiantly.  Hers  it  is  to  take  the  vessel  safely  to  its  berth,  a  mile  up  the 
river,  and  she  does  it ;  but  what  a  labyrinth  !  On  each  deck  stands  each  captain,  from 
the  well-dressed  commander  of  the  passenger-steamer  to  the  grimy  boss  of  the  coal- 
barge.  They  halloa;  they  yell;  they  ring  bells;  they  sound  whistles;  they  back  their 
boats ;  they  start  them  forward ;  they  edge  them  sideways ;  they  squeeze,  grind,  race, 
crawl,  or  charge  through,  according  to  their  several  dispositions,  but  through,  all !  The 
luistcrn    passenger,  going  out  on  the  evening  boat,  clutches  his  umbrella  in  alarm    as    he 


\\ 


,'    '.    i 


s;  i 


l.i|;ht'll<>ust',    Hutlalu. 


5'6 


PIC TURESOril    AMERICA. 


sees  round  the  eiirve  tlie  ineomiiifr  lug  with  its  tlirce-niasted  l)ark  in  tow,  entirely  filliiur 
the  channel.  He  olances  at  his  captain,  outlined  a<i;ainst  tiie  soft  evenin,ir  sky  on  the 
hurricane-deck  ;  but  the  captain  merely  rings  his  l)ell ;  tiie  wiicelsman  clanks  liis  eiiains 
in  the  pilot-house ;  and  on  sail  the  two  great  hulks,  apparently  determined  to  crush  (.acii 
other  to  atoms.  The  passenger  looks  on,  and  even  thinks  of  jumping  ashore;  a  few 
feet  less,  and  he  might  do  it,  the  river  is  so  narrow.  Then  come  a  sudden  clang,  rattle, 
shout,  and  quiver;  the  steamer  leaps  backward  and  sideways  for  an  instant  ;  tiie  tug 
claws  the  opposite  bank  in  fury ;  the  great  vessel  swings  slowly  aside ;  and  the  two 
boats  pass  each  other,  with   hardly  an   inch   to  spare.      And  all   the  while  on   the  eaiial- 


Sliiii-C.in.il  aii.l  Cnal-lLcL^,   IJulTil.i 


boats,  which    seem    doomed  to  lie  ground  to  powder  at  the  docks,  llu-  washing   goes   on. 
and  the  clothes  are  Innig  out  as  usual. 

The  shores  of  Lake  luie  are  wocjded,  rising,  o\\  an  average,  sixty  fiet  above  tlu 
water.  Through  this  |)lateau  the  stream^;  come  down  in  gorges  aiul  ravines,  and  llie 
banks  are  full  of  springs  and  (|uicksands.  In  a  north  wind  the  water  is  dark,  and  liu' 
waves  dash  on  the  beach  with  a  loud  roar;  in  an  east  wind  it  is  sea-gret-n,  (he  whiir- 
caps  enrl  toward  the  west,  and  it  has  a  lieaelierous  asi)ect ;  bu.t,  when  the  west  wind 
blows,  it  is  a  l)lue  summer  si-a,  over  which  the  ships  sail  gaviv  under  a  cloud  of  canvas, 
Onlv  when  the  south  wind  coims  off  the  land,  bringing  a  gray  rain-storm,  does  the  laki 
lose  all  its  beauty.     Then   it   sullenly  sinks   into    lethargv  ;    lIu'  woods  on   its  shores  stanil 


Mitircly  filling 
r  sky  on  ilic 
ks    Ills   chains 
to  crush  (.ach 
ashore ;  a  lew 
1  clanfj,  ralUc, 
tant ;   the   luLi 
and    the   two 
on   the  canal- 


m 


•ashin^r   piocs   un, 

iVct    al)<>vc    tlu' 

raviiu-s,  anil    ll^' 

is  (lark,  and  tlu' 

ortH'ii,  till-  whilo- 

,    ihi'  west  wind 

tloiKl  of  canvas, 

ini,  does  the  lake 

its  shores  stand 


5i8 


PIC  TURESOUH    AMERICA. 


desolate;  and  tlie  little  villages,  eaeh  with  its  lon<r,  dri])pin.e;  dock  and  warehouse,  look 
so  miserable  that  the  lake-traveller  hastily  betakes  himself  to  the  inmost  depths  of  the 
cabin  and  the  most  exciting  novel  he  can  find. 

Mirage  is  seen  on   Erie  at  times,  but  fogs  rarely,  unless  it  be  that  soft  haze  of  tlie 
twilight   through  which  the  vessels  steal  by  each  other  like  so  many  phantom-ships.      In 


Lakc-Sliuic,  alimc    lirii;. 


the  winter  come  the  ice-fields,  hummocks,  plains,  and    moving   floes;   while   above  glitter 
the  spears  of  the   Aurora    Horealis,  stretching  from   end   to  end  of  the  northern  sky. 

Lake  luie  derived  its  name  from  t'le  ICries,  or  tribe  of  the  ('at,  who  lived  upon 
its  shores  when  the  Jesuit  missionaries  first  visited  the  country,  two  centuries  ago 
Every  thing  connected  with  the  luies,  who  have  left  only  a  name  behind  them,  is  in- 
volved   in    obscurity.      They    were    a    powerful    tribe  ;    they    stood    at    the    head    of    tlnit 


THE    SOUTH   SHORE    OF    LAKE    ERIE. 


5'9 


remarkable  confederacy  called  the  Neutral  Nation ;  their  principal  towns  were  near  the 
site  of  Bufluilo,  but  they  also  roamed  along  the  entire  south  shore,  and  had  their  fast- 
nesses on  its  western  islands.  Suddenly  came  the  Iroquois  from  the  East,  and  extermi- 
nated them,  man,  woman,  and  child,  in  one  day.  Such  is  the  tradition.  But  the  name 
of  the  poor  Cat  tribe  has  lived  after  them  ;  Erie  the  lake,  Erie  the  town,  Erie  the 
canal,  and  Erie  the  railroad,  have  been  in  men's  mouths  ever  since.  Old  Time  has  his 
little  compensations,  after  all. 

The  city  of  BufTalo,  takini^  its  name  from  the  American  bison  who  roamed  in  herds 
along  the  shore  as  late  as  1720,  lies  at  the  eastern  end  of   Lake  Erie.     The  neighboring 


""'m.-y 


Main    l.iijht,  at    Kric. 


post  of  Niagara  was,  however,  of  more  importance  in  the  early  days  of  the  frontier. 
Here,  in  1769,  La  Salle's  men  had  built  the  Griffin.  During  the  long  winter,  with  the 
frozen  river  lying  before  them  "  like  a  plain  paved  with  polished  marble,"  the  French- 
men, with  their  rude  tools,  sawed  and  hammered  on  the  timbers  they  had  cut  from  the 
forest.  At  last,  on  the  7th  of  August,  all  was  ready ;  and,  to  the  combined  sound  of 
a  Tc  Deum  and  an  anjuebuse,  the  first  vessel  entered  the  waters  of  Lake  Erie.  Singu- 
larly enough,  the  little  Griffin,  after  sailing  safely  through  the  unknown  seas  as  far  as 
Green  Bay,  and  encountering  gales  on  Huron  and  Michigan,  came  back  to  lay  her 
timbers  under  the  waters  of  Erie.  She  passed  what  is  now  Detroit,  and  entered  the 
lake,  but  was  never  seen  again.     Where  she  went  down,  no  one  knows. 


520 


PIC  TLIRESO  UE    A  M ERICA . 


II 


BufTalo  was  first  settled  in  uSoi.  Previous  to  tliis  date  there  iiad  been  one  or  two 
trading-cabins  and  a  stockade  fort  on  the  creek,  wiiere  the  inniters  and  traders  livtd 
like  Ishniael,  -.vith  their  hands  against  every  man  and  every  man's  liand  against  t'lUin. 
Attacks  hy  the  Indians,  scalping,  hair-breadth  escapes,  the  dangers  of  starvation  and  cdld, 
formed  the  incidents  of  those  years.  But  the  little  settlement  kept  itself  alive,  immigrants 
came,  and  in  uSio  Tushuway,  or  Buffalo,  including  all  that  part  of  the  State  which  lii-s 
west  of  the  west  transit  line,  was  set  otf  from  the  neighboring  settlement  of  Clarence. 
These  transits  were  mciidii.n  lines  run  by  a  transit  instrument;  they  were  si.xteeii  miles 
apart.  Thus,  at  its  first  organization,  Buffalo  contained  an  area  of  about  three  hundud 
thousand  acres;  this  was  an  ambitious  beginning,  even  for  the  "Ouccn  City  of  the 
Lakes,"  as  it  is  callec'.  Shortly  after  this  the  progress  of  Buffalo  was  checked  b)-  tlic 
War  of  1 812;  the  frontier  lake-country  was  ravaged  by  the  contending  armies  and  tluir 
savage  allies,  and,  near  the  close  of  1813,  Fort  Niagara  was  taken  by  the  British,  and 
the  surrounding  villages,  including  Buffdo,  burned  to  the  ground.  When  peace  was  de- 
clared the  village  was  rebuilt,  and  in  1832  it  took  its  place  as  a  city,  ranking  now  llic 
third  in  ])oint  of  size  in  the  State  of  New  \'ork.  The  Buffalo  of  to-day  is  a  laiye, 
bright,  busy  town,  with  broad  streets  of  well-built  residences  and  business  blocks.  It  liiis 
a  social  reputation  of  its  own,  which  may  be  described  by  the  term  "gay,"  used  in  its  best 
sense :  it  has  its  driving-park  and  annual  races ;  it  has  its  club-houses,  its  brilliant  ama- 
teur theatricals,  and  well-su|)ported  public  theatres,  while  its  private  balls  and  parties  arc 
renowned  for  their  gayety  througiiout  the  whole  lake-country  with  its  chain  of  cities. 
Cleveland,  the  "Forest  City,"  is  rivalling  the  "(}ueen,"  in  the  extent  of  her  business; 
but,  socially,  the  town  of  Connecticut  origin  is  dull  when  compared  with  Buffalo ;  it 
is  like  comparing  a  Roundhead  with  a  Cavalier. 

The  most  noticeable  feature  of  Ikiffalo  is  its  mode  of  handling  grain  in  bulk  by 
means  of  its  numerous  levators.  These  wooden  monsters,  with  long  trunks  and  hi^li 
heads,  stand  on  the  bank  of  the  river  waiting  for  their  prey.  In  from  the  lake  come  the 
vessels  and  propellers  laden  with  grain  from  Milwaukee  and  Chicago,  and  the  tugs  caiiv 
them  u|)  within  reach,  aiv'  leave  them  to  their  fate;  then  down,  out  of  the  long  neck 
comes  the  trunk,  and,  nlnii'-.ing  itself  deep  into  the  hold  of  the  craft,  it  begins  to  suck 
up  the  grain,  nor  pauses  until  the  last  aton.  is  gone.  Within  this  trunk  are  two  divis- 
ions: in  one,  the  troughs  full  of  grain  pass  up  on  a  pliable  band;  in  the-  other,  they 
pass  down  empty.  In  the  hold  of  the  vessel  or  piopeller  arc  men  who  shovel  the  grain 
toward  these  troughs,  so  that  they  may  always  go  up  full ;  and  in  the  granary  of  tlie 
elevator  above  are  men  who  regulate  the  flow  of  tlie  grain  into  the  sluite,  and  cause  it 
to  measure  itself  by  means  of  a  self-registering  apparatus,  the  whole  adjusted  and  gov- 
erned by  the  weight  of  a  finger.  It  may  be  that  this  grain  is  to  go  eastward  by  the 
Erie  Canal ;  in  that  case  the  canal-boat  is  waiting  on  the  other  side,  a  man  opens  an- 
other  door,  the   grain   runs    down    another   trunk   into  its   hold,  and  behold    it    ready  for 


;  I 


n   one  or   two 
I   traders   \\\v^\ 

against  t'lum. 
ition  and  coUl, 
ive,  immifinnits 
tate  whieli  lies 
It  of  Clareiici'. 
sixteen   miles 

three  hundred 
n  City  of  the 
checked  In'  the 
rmies  and  their 
he  British,  and 
1  peace  was  de- 
nizing now  the 
day  is   a   large, 

blocks.  It  h;is 
used  in  its  best 
s  brilliant  ama- 
and  parties   are 

chain  of  cities. 
)f  her  business; 
vith    BufTido;  it 


rrain  in  bulk  by 
runks  and  high 
c  lake  come  the 
d  the  tugs  carry 

the  long  neck 
t  begins  to  suck 
k    are  two  divis- 

the-  other,  they 
shovel  the  grain 
2  granary  of  the 
ute,  and  cause  it 
Ijusted  and  gov- 
eastward  by  the 
I  man  opens  an- 
lold   it   ready  for 


X 


^ 


xN 


V 


rf- 
^ 


-^^ 


1 


THE    SOUTH    SHORE    OE    LAKE    ERIE. 


521 


its  journey  to  Ncvv-Vork  City.  The  transfer  of  forty  bushels  takes  less  than  lialf  a 
minute,  anJ  costs  less  than  half  a  cent.  Americans  pass  these  elevators  with  but  slight 
attention;  every  one  is  supposed  to  understand  their  workings,  and  no  one  sees  any 
thing  remarkable  in  them  unless  it  be  their  ugliness.  But  visitors  from  foreign  countries 
pause  before  them  with  curiosity  ;  our  uncouth  planked  elephants  on  the  river-banks  ex- 
cite their  interest,  and  for  written  descriptions  of  them  we  must  go  to  European  books 
(if  travel.  Mr.  Anthony  Trollope,  the  author  of  the  deligiitful  series  of  English  novels, 
"  Barchester  Towers "  and    its  companion  volumes,  devotes  several   pages   in  iiis  book    on 


^s^|.;,  f 


Muutli  ol  C'viyahoi;.!  Kivcr,  Clcvclaiul. 

America  to  the  nufTalo  elevators.  He  says:  "  .\n  cltvator  is  as  ugly  a  mon>^ter  as  has 
been  yet  imxiuced.  In  uncouthness  of  form  it  outdoes  those  obsolete  old  brutes  who 
used  to  roam  about  llu-  semi-a(|ueous  world  and  live  a  most  uncomfortable  life  witii 
their  great  hungering  stomachs  and  huge,  unsatisfied  maws.  Rivers  of  corn  and  wheat 
run  through  these  monsters  night  and  day.  And  all  this  wheat  which  passes  ilirough 
UulTalo  comes  loose,  in  bulk;  nothing  is  known  of  sacks  or  bags,  '-'o  any  spectator  mi 
BuiTalo  (his  l>ecomei  immediatelv  a  matter  of  coi'rse;  but  this  should  !»<•  expt.iini  I,  as 
we,  in  I'ngl.iid,  are  not  accustonn-<l  to  see  wheat  travelling  in  ibis  o|)en,  unguarded, 
nnd  plebeian  manner.  Wheat  with  us  is  aristocratic,  and  travels  always  in  its  private 
carriage." 


K^ 


523 


PICTURESQUE    AMERICA. 


Bufflilo  is  attractive  by  force  of  its  situation  at  the  eastern  end  of  Lake  Erie.  It 
does  not  lie  on  a  side-bank,  as  Cleveland  lies ;  it  does  not  stand  back  on  a  bay,  as  To- 
ledo and  Sandusky  stand ;  it  docs  not  retreat  u]i  a  river,  like  Detroit ;  it  takes  its  place 
boldly  at  the  foot  of  thC  lake,  and  catches  every  breeze  and  every  gale  in  their  full 
strength.  Throusrh  the  vista  of  its  broad  streets,  glimpses  of  blue  wat-T  meet  the  eye, 
and  the  waves  seem  full  of  life  as  they  dance  across  the  bay  toward  the  gate-way  of  liic 
Niagara  River,  through  whose  portal  they  will  soon  glide  past  Grand  Island,  faster  and 
faster,  among  tiie  rapids,  and  over  tiic  foam-wreathed,  misty  precipice  into  tiie  deep, 
green  basin  below. 

BufTalo  harbor  is  tiie  largest  on  the  lake,  but,  owing  to  its  situation,  it  is  often  the 
last  gathering-place  for  the  weakened  ice,  so  that  when  the  other  coast  cities  arc  send- 
ing out  their  vessels  in  the  early  spring,  when  Detroit  River  is  open,  and  the  iron 
fleets  of  Cleveland  are  starting  for  Lake  Superior,  the  harbor  of  BufTalo  is  still  reported 
by  telegraph  as  "closed,"  "closed."  At  length  the  ice  "goes" — no  one  knows  where. 
Navigation  is  open,  the  double-whistles  resound,  the  compact  little  boats  of  the  Trans- 
portation Company  start  eastward  through  the  Welland  Canal,  and  the  large  pro|)el]trs 
of  the   Union   Line  start  westward  for  Chicago. 

.\s  the  steamer  leaves  BufTalo  Light  bchii.d,  the  lake  broadens,  and,  alter  passiiio 
Sturgeon  Point,  t'lC  breeze  is  almost  sure  to  freshen  into  a  strong  wind.  Along  this 
portion  of  the  coast  in  winter  tlie  snow  sweeps  with  tierce  fury;  here,  if  anywhere,  the 
trains  of  the  Lake  Shore  Railroad  are  blocked  in  sjiite  of  the  long  lines  of  snow-sheds; 
something  in  the  lav  of  the  land  and  the  shape  of  the  lake  makes  a  snow-trap  of  ihi^ 
section;  the  wind  sweeps  howling  over  it  when  on  either  side  it  is  calm— there  an- 
snow-drifts  here  when  elsewhere  there  are  none.  It  is  a  bleak  coast,  even  in  suninier, 
with  little  to  attract  the  eye.  Occasionally  a  village  is  passed,  where  the  smoke  of  a 
furnace  or  a  mill  and  the  masts  of  vessels  show  that  a  city  is  growing  u|);  but  evin 
should  the  steamer  turn  into  the  wharf,  there  is  nothing  to  be  seen  save  the  nevei-eiul- 
ing  loading  and  unloading  of  the  lake-schooners,  the  dock-hands  with  their  wheel-har- 
rows, and  on  shore  the  newness  and  the  rawness  of  a  Western  town  in  its  awkwaiii. 
growing  youth.  One  of  these  villages-State  Lim  — marks  the  New-^'ork  boun-larv,  aiul 
here  begins  the  Triangle — that  stunly  little  elbow  which  Pennsylvania  has  pushed  up  to 
the  lake-shore,  as  if  determined  to  have  a  jxnt  somewhere,  on  fresh  water  if  not  on 
salt.  In  this  triangle  is  the  harbor  of  Prisoue  isle,  now  I'.rie,  one  of  the  earl\-  milit.irv 
posts  on  the  lake.  In  1795  two  block-houses  were  built  here  under  the  direetinn  o| 
(leneral  Irvine,  and  a  small  garrison  maintained  tor  the  protecti<  n  if  tlie  surveyors  wlm 
were  locating  the  donation  lands  of  the  State.  I'rcviously,  while  employed  in  this  work, 
(General  Irvine  found  that  a  tract  of  land  in  the  shape  of  a  triangle,  including  this  linr- 
hor  of  Pres(|ue  Isle,  was,  in  a  ligal  point  of  view,  nowhere,  Ixing  north  of  the  Piiiii- 
sylvania  line,  west  of  the   New-N'ork  line,  .nul   east   of   the  Connecticut    Reserve.     WIkii 


^akc  Eric.  It 
a  bay,  as  To- 
fakcs  its  place 
:  in  their  full 
meet  the  eye, 
;ate-\vay  of  the 
and,  faster  and 
into   the    deep, 

it  is  often  the 
ities   are   send- 

and  the  iron 
is  still  reported 

knows   where. 

of  the  Trans- 
large    propellers 

d,  after  passinu 

id.     .Monji    tills 

f  anywhere,  tlie 

of  snow -sheds; 

ow-trap  of  this 

:aln» — there    are 

en    ill    sunniier, 

he  smoke   of  ;i 

up ;    but    even 

■  the  never-eiid- 
their  wheel-iwr- 
in  its  awkwaid, 

k  limiivlarv,  and 
s  pushed  up  to 
valer  if  n<il  on 
le  earlv  military 
he  direction   of 

■  surveyors  who 
ed   in  this  work, 

hiding  this  har- 
th  of  the  iViui- 
Reserve.     When 


r> 


'vt  /:  y. 


524 


PICTURESQUE    AMERICA. 


this  was  discovered,  Pennsylvania  set  to  work  to  obtain  the  little  strip  of  water-front, 
and  finally,  after  the  Indian  title  had  l)ccn  acquired  by  the  payment  of  twelve  hundred 
pounds,  the  State  purchased  the  land  of  the  General  Government,  in  179?,  for  the  sum 
of  one  hundred  and  fifty  thousand  six  luindred  and  forty  dollars  and  twenty-five  cents. 
The  Triangle  contained  an  area  of  two  hundred  and  two  thousand  acres.  All  along  t!ic 
lake-shore  from  Bulfalo  to  Detroit  are  found  traces  of  one  of  the  difficulties  of  coloniza- 
tion, which  is  often  lost  sight  of  among  the  more  dramatic  troubles  of  storms,  wild 
beasts,  and  Indians:  this  is  the  conllicting  claims  of  rival  land  companies,  and  the  con- 
sequent doubt  as  to  the  ownership  of  the  st)il.  The  domains  of  these  companies  wiu' 
varying  and  indefinite  in  bou  Jary,  from  the  Plymouth  Company  of  James  I.,  which 
took  in  New  \'ork,  Pennsylvania,  Ohio,  Canada,  and  all  the  Northwestern  States,  lo 
the  grant  of  the  Portuguese  Dohrman,  of  one  six-mile  townshi]),  for  aid  rendered  to 
•  American  vessels  during  the  Revolution.  The  same  territory  was  granted  and  regranted 
again  and  again,  and  the  bewildered  settler — between  the  rrench,  British,  Indian,  and  in- 
dividual claims — sat  down  by  his  half-sawn  tree  to  study  his  useless  title-tieeds  and  solve 
an  impor.sible  problem.  The  traces  of  this  period  are  found  in  the  names  which  cling 
lo  the  lake-shore;  in  spite  of  the  decorous  counties  and  townships,  the  old  people  still 
talk  of  the  "Holland  Purchase,"  the  "Struck  District,"  the  "Triangle,"  the  "Western 
Reserve,"  the  "Fire  Lands,"  (he  "  Maumee  Road  Tract,"  and  the  'Black  Swamp. ' 
These  titles  have  each  their  local  history,  and  were  derived  either  from  the  original 
grant  or  the  nature  of  the  soil.  "Struck  District"  is  not  melodious,  certainly;  but  it 
came  into  being  because  its  land  was  struck  out  of  a  lottery  which  was  organized  for 
the  impartial  distribution  of  a  donation  tract;  thus  it  had,  at  least,  a  reason  for  exist- 
ence, which  is  more  tlian  can  be  said  for  the  titles  gravely  selected  by  Congress  for  tlic 
Lake  States:  "  Assenispia,"  "  Metropotamia,'  "  Polypotamia,"  and  "  Pelisipia."  Fortunate- 
ly, those  conglomerates  were  rejected. 

The  situation  of  Frie  is  picturesque,  owing  to  the  beauty  of  its  bay  and  outlying 
island.  As  early  as  1753  the  French  landed  at  this  point  and  erected  a  little  fort, 
naining  it  Prcsque  Isle;  it  was  one  of  a  chain  which  was  to  connect  the  St.  Lawrence, 
and  la  belle  riviere,  as  they  called  the  Ohio.  In  1760  Prosciue  Isle  was  surrendered  to 
the  British,  and  soon  after  it  was  destroyed  by  the  Indians,  in  that  memorable  year  in 
the  history  of  the  lake-country  whcp.  nine  out  of  the  twelve  posts  of  the  white  nun 
were  captured  on  the  same  day,  anil  their  garrisons  massacred.  From  that  time  the 
beautiful  bay  was  solitary  imtil  the  arriv.il  of  the  surveyors. 

The  present  town  of  Frie  was  incorporated  as  a  borough  in  1805.  In  its  bay 
Commodore  Perry  built  most  of  the  vessels  of  his  famous  little  llect,  having  for  materi;il 
only  the  trees  of  the  forest,  and  for  plans  only  his  own  iron  determination.  A  modern 
ship-builder  would  stanJ  aghast  before  such  a  problem  :  given,  a  forest  and  a  ba\  ; 
wanted,   a   fleet.     But  in    seventy    days   the  vessels   were    completed,  and,  whether   well- 


of  water-front, 
;\velve  hundicil 
[?,  for  the  sum 
.•enty-five  cents. 

All  along  ti,c 
:ies  of  coloniza- 
of  storms,  wild 
s,  and  the  con- 
companies  wtiv 
lames  I.,  vvhicli 
stern  States,  to 
aid  rendered  to 
d  and  regrantcd 

Indian,  and  in- 
■deeds  and  solve 
lies  which   clin^r 

old  people  still 
"   the    "  Western 

Hlack  Swamp." 
oni  the  original 
certainly;  hut  it 
as  organized   for 

eason    for   exist- 

'ongress   for  the 

3ia."     Fortunatf- 

)ay  and  outlyiui; 
ted  a  little  fort, 
le  St.  Lawrence, 
s  surrendered  tn 
morahle  year  in 
the  white  men 
11    that   time   the 

805.  In  its  hav 
A'ing  for  material 
tion.  A  modern 
nest  and  a  ha\  ; 
id,  whether  well- 


eUPERIOR    3THEET,    CLEVELAND,     KHOM     HRESBYTEHiAN     CHURCH. 


526 


PICTURESQUE    AMERICA. 


modelled  ox  not,  they  sailed  away  bravely  from  the  Presque  Isle  harbor,  fought  tiie  bat- 
tle of  Lake  Erie,  and  returned  in  triumph  with  a  line  of  British  ships  in  tow.  The  re- 
mains of  Perry's  flag-ship,  the  Lawrence,  lie  in  the  Erie  harbor,  and  on  the  bank  above 
the  embankments  of  the  old  French  Port  Presque  Isle  can  be  traced.  Erie  is  a  thrivinj^^ 
town — the  outlet  of  the  iron  and  coal  district  of  Western  Pennsylvania;  it  is  the  prin- 
cipal market  for  bituminous  coal  on  the  lakes. 


|i'      I 


"■'~ypj^.:'.^y~^. 


mt 


i 


Kudiil  Avenue,  C'levelainl 

Dotted  along  the  coast  stand  the  light-houses,  pieturescjue  towers  fmiling  a  footing 
on  lonely  islets  and  r(tcky  ledges,  win i ever  they  can  command  a  wide  sweep  of  the 
horizon.  The  farm-buildings  cluster  inland;  but  the  light-house,  with  the  keeper's  little 
cabin  at  the  base,  stands  alone  on  its  point,  where  its  tower  gleams  white  by  day  ;uul 
red  l)y  night  far  out  at  sea.  To  tlie  traveller  over  the  Western  waters  the  light-hou'^cs 
seem    both    picturcs(|ue    and    frieiuilv.      There    is    almost    always    one    in   view;    for   tlic 


THE    SOUTH   SHORE    OF   LAKE    ERIE. 


5^7 


steamers  keep  withiii  sijrht  of  the  shore,  and,  a  pillar  of  cloud  by  day  and  fire  by 
iii<lht,  they  greet  the  voyager  as  he  journeys,  one  fiuling  astern  as  the  next  shines  out 
ahead.     The  light  at  Eric  is  visible  for  a  distance  of  twenty  miles. 

^""arther  west  the  Triangle  of  Pennsylvania  ends,  and  Ohio  comes  forward  to  the 
lake-shore.  Here  began  the  possessions  of  the  Connecticut  Western  Reserve,  and  its 
Plymouth  was  the  present  bay  of  Conneaut,  a  Seneca  word,  signifying  "  many  fish," 
where  the  first  New-England  emigrants,  on  the  4th  of  July,  1796,  pledged  each  other  in 
tin  cups  of  lake-water,  accompanied  by  a  salute  of  fowling-pieces.  The  ne.xt  day  they 
l)cgan  to  build  a  large  log-house,  the  first  on  the  Reserve,  which  was  long  known  as 
"  Stow  Castle."  This  portion  of  Ohio  soon  became  the  favorite  locality  for  New-Eng- 
land emigration ;  so  wide-spread  grew  the  fever  that  resort  was  had  to  all  devices  to 
cure  it,  and  there  are  still  in  existence  caricatures  which  were  scattered  broadcast  through 
Massachusetts  and  Conneci.icut,  one  representing  a  plump,  smiling  man  mounted  on  a 
sleek  horse,  with  the  legend,  "  I  am  going  to  Ohio,"  coming  out  of  his  mouth ;  and 
the  other,  showing  the  same  man,  worn  to  a  shadow,  leading  a  skeleton  steed  drearily 
homeward,  with  the  sarcastic  motto,  "/  have  (^^r;/  to  Ohio!"  But  caricatures  were  of 
no  avail,  and  the  Ohio  lake-shore  was  at  an  early  date  settled  by  a  thrifty,  vigorous 
New-England  colony. 

Cleveland,  the  city  of  the  Western  Reserve,  is  universally  considered  the  most  beau- 
tiful town  on  the  Great  Lakes.  It  was  named  after  General  Moses  Cleveland,  the  agent 
of  the  Connecticut  Land  Company,  and  was  first  settled  in  1796.  The  town  lies  on 
Roth  sides,  of  the  Cuyahoga  River,  a  narrow,  crooked  stream,  which  ilows  through  a  deep 
valley  into  the  lake,  leaving  on  either  side  the  bluffs  whose  shaded  streets  have  gained 
the  name  of  "  Forest  City."  The  houses  are  embowered  in  foliage,  and,  were  it  not  for 
the  width  of  the  avenues,  it  would  seem  like  a  city  built  in  a  wood.  As  it  is,  the 
traveller  coming  into  the  harbor  on  the  BulTalo  boat  cannot  realize  its  size,  save  from 
the  spires  thac  rise  through  the  green,  and  the  layer  of  dark  smoke  which  rests  abo'.e 
its  central  valley.  This  valley  is  called  the  Flats.  Not  long  ago  it  was  a  marshy 
meadow,  where  the  river  meandered  in  peace,  with  nothing  to  disturb  its  sedgy  margin 
save  the  cows  and  water-birds.  Now  it  is  a  dense  mass  of  iron-mills,  lumber-yards,  and 
oil-refineries — a  seething  basin  of  life,  movement,  noise,  and  smoke.  But  all  this  bustle 
is  hidden  away  from  the  town;  the  Flat  is  a  deep  pocket,  and  only  the  smoke  and  the 
tips  of  masts  betray  what  is  going  on  undir  the  hill.  Above,  on  either  side,  stretch  the 
long  avenues,  with  miles  of  pleasant  residences,  gardens,  velvet  lawns,  vines,  and  Howers. 
Fach  house  is  isolated  in  green,  and  one  of  the  avenues  is  lined  with  rows  of  country- 
seats,  with  extensive  grounds,  such  as  are  seldom  seen  within  the  limits  of  a  city.  But 
Cleveland  on  the  hill  is  not  like  a  city;  it  is  like  a  suburban  village  multiplied  by  ten, 
and  miraculouslv  endowed  with  gas  and  pavements.  Flven  in  its  central  s(juare,  with  its 
post-office,  court-house,  business-blocks,  and   horse-cars,  it  has  an  air  of  leisure ;  and   the 


LAKE     ERIE,     FROM     BLUFF,     MOUTM     OF     ROCKY     RIVER. 


t 


4"- 


'^^*^ 


i 


.^. 


THE    SOUTH   SHORE    OE    LAKE    ERHi. 


529 


statue  of  Commodore  Perry,  the  tlajr-stulT,  and  the  little  seats  seattered  over  the  grass, 
seem  quite  appropriate  to  its  elegant  ease.  IJut,  step  to  the  verge  of  the  hill,  and  every 
thing  is  ditferent.  Down  on  the  Flat  we  see  Cleveland  at  work,  Cleveland  grimy, 
Cleveland  toiling  in  the  sweat  of  her  brow.  Slowly  through  the  oily  river,  whose  name 
litly  signifies  "erooked,"  wind  the  heavily-laden  boats,  bringing  work  for  all  these  puffing 
engines,  and  taking  away  the  prbduet  in  its  new  shape  as  fast  as  the  eiigines  let  it  go. 
Merc  are  seen  all  varieties  of  the  lake-craft,  from  the  scow  to  "The  Last  of  the  Mo- 
hicans" among  boats,  the  two  large  side-wheel  steamers  which  ply  between  Cleveland 
and  Detroit — last  remnants  of  a  stately  tribe  which  once  ruled  the  Western  waters,  and 
carried  their  hundreds  of  passengers  to  and  fro,  with  bands  of  music  and  flying  flags. 
The  stately  steamers  are  gone;  their  hulls  are  dismembered,  and  their  engines  now  run 
on  the  Hudson  River;   they  were  tried  by  the  great  American  test,  "Does  it  pay?"  and 


Moutli  cf  Rocky  Uiver. 


found    wanting.      The   sturdy,  compact   propeller  has  driven   them  from  the  lakes  so  en- 
tirely that  these  two  Cleveland  boats  are  regarded  as  relics  of  a  past  age. 

As  Buffalo  has  its  elevators,  so  Cleveland  has  its  oil-refineries,  which  line  the  river- 
valley  for  miles.  Hither,  from  the  petroleum  district,  comes  that  fiery  fluid  which,  hidden 
through  all  these  centuries,  has  crowned  the  nineteenth  with  its  dangerous  splendor. 
Here  it  is  purified,  and  sent  forth  into  the  wide  world  to  fulfil  its  mission.  In  its  train 
is  power  as  yet  but  half  discovered ;  in  its  train  is  light  as  yet  but  half  developed.  IJut 
with  it  rides  Death  on  a  fiery  steed,  taking  his  victims  hourly;  Ignorance  and  Careless- 
ness do  good  service  as  his  aides;  and  the  daily  papers  record  the  list  of  mortality.  So 
far,  our  new  slave  of  the  lamp  is  a  dark  master;  and  the  world  waits  for  the  mind 
which  shall  put  the  yoke  upon  this  doubtful,  dangerous  servant,  and  make  it  do  its 
work  in  safety,  as  steam  and  electricity  do  theirs. 


530 


PICrURESQUE    A  ME  RICA. 


The  pupuUition  of  Cleveland  is  largely  composed  of  the  descendants  of  the  New- 
England  pioneers,  and  to  their  thrift  belong:  the  miles  of  p'easant  streets.  There  is, 
however,  a  larjt  -  German  clement,  also.  In  a  letter  written  by  one  of  the  early  land- 
owners, in  1805,  the  follovvin<r  promise  occurs:  "If  I  make  the  contract  for  thirty 
thousand   acres,   I    expect,  with    all    speed,    to   send    you    fifteen    or    twenty    iiimilies   of 


lll.itk  ki'T,  iiiMr  l.lyiin,  ( lliii>. 


prancinjr  Dutchmen."  Whither  these  prancinjf  Teulon'-  were  or  were  not  I  lie  parents 
of  lite  pn sent  race  in  ("leveland,  certain  it  is  that  the  eilv  has  prancinp  vineyards  and 
fl()W«'rs  and  wine,  daneinj:  and  music,  ••  hieh  never  j^rew  Irom  a  I'uritan  stock.  Alon^ 
lilt  lake-shore  are  (lerman  >rardens,  public  and  private;  (lerman  vineyards,  and  (lermaii 
country-houses.  Thither  the  luople  resort  when  the  work  of  the  day  or  week  is  over; 
and,  sittinjf  on   the  jrrassy  slopes,  they  smoke  the  pipe  of   peace,  and   look   oil'  over  iIk 


THE    SOUTH    SHORE    OE   LAKE    ERIE. 


531 


lake,  watching  the  sunsets  which  arc  the  glory  of  Cleveland.  The  sun,  throughout  the 
summer,  sinks  directly  into  the  bosom  of  the  water,  lighting  u])  the  floating  clouds  with 
gorgeous  tints,  which  cannot  be  surpassed  the  world  over.  Crimson  mountains  lie  on 
the  horizon,  their  soft  peaks  fading  into  rose;  then  comes  faint  pink,  tipjied  with  gold, 
which  lies  against  a  deep-violet  background,  shading  away  higher  and  higher,  imtil  it 
mingles  with  the  quiet  blue  of  the  zenith.  The  evening  is  the  Western  sailor's  favorite 
starting-hour;  and  one  by  one,  against  the  glowing  sky,  the  ships  steal  out  of  the 
harbor,  and,  setting  their  white  sails,  glide  away  over  the  hazy  water,  and  vanish  into 
night.  The  gazer  stands  enchanted ;  he  has  no  words ;  a  silence  falls  upon  him ;  and, 
motionless,  he  watches  until  the  last  vessel  is  lost  in  the  twilight  haze,  and  I  lie  last  tint 
has  faded  into  the  usual  blue  of  the  summer-night;  then,  over  the  lake,  shines  out  the 
evening-star,  and  he  turns  homeward  with  a  sigh. 

West  of  Cleveland,  the  coast  grows  more  picturesque;  the  shore  is  high  and  pre- 
cipitous, and  the  streams  come  rushing  down  in  liills  and  rapids.  Seven  miles  from  the 
city  is  Rocky  River,  which  (lows  through  a  deep  gorge  between  perpendicular  clifls,  that 
jut  boldly  into  the  lake  and  command  a  wide  prospect.  Here  is  the  most  extensive 
unbroken  view  of  Lake  Erie;  lilack-Rivcr  Point  is  seen  on  the  west,  and  the  spires  of 
Cleveland  shine  out  against  the  green  curve  of  the  eastern  shore;  but  far  awav  toward 
the  north  stretches  the  unbroken  expanse  of  water,  and  one  can  see  on  the  liorizon-line 
distant  sails,  which  are  still  only  in  mid-lake,  with  miles  of  blue  waves  beyond.  At- 
tached to  the  cliffs  of  Rocky  River  is  a  fragment  of  history  whose  trutli  is  attested,  not 
liy  the  historian's  page,  but  by  the  silent  witnesses  of  its  sands.  When  I'ontiae  made 
his  successful  attack  on  all  the  iiritish  forts  of  the  lake-country,  in  1763,  the  |)osl  of 
Detroit  made  a  determined  resistance,  refusing  to  sunender,  in  spite  of  its  des|)erate  site- 
ation  throughout  months  of  suspense  and  fighting.  In  tlie  autumn,  an  exjiediiion  in 
bateaux,  under  the  command  of  Major  Wilkins,  was  sent  from  Albany  t(j  •''•  assistance 
of  the   beleaguered   garrison;   and,  after  a  toilsome   journcv,  and  skirmishe  along  the 

route  with  hostile  Indians,  the  soldiers,  by  means  of  portages,  reached  Lake  I'.rie  with 
their  bateaux  at  the  present  site  of  IJuffalo.  earlv  in  November.  The  Mrilish  clliceis  and 
their  men  knew  nothing  of  the  treachery  of  the  WiNUrn  waters;  no  doubt,  the  golden 
haze  spread  a  veil  of  enchantment  over  the  lake,  and  tlu\  |ourneyed  on  a  simimer  sea, 
cami)ing  at  night  on  the  purple-shadowed  shores,  under  the  soft  sky  of  the  Indian  sum- 
mer. Fair  is  Lake  V.x'w  at  this  season,  fairer  than  the  dream  of  a  heavenlv  l.iki-  aloft  in 
the  clouds;  and,  lying  on  it-;  warm  sands,  gazing  olf  to  sea,  the  dreamer  is  soon  lost  in 
a  reverie  of  golden  ease,  whiih  makes  the  |)resent  seem  a  forever.  Hut  sud(leiil\  there 
comes  a  stir,  a  nuHter,  a  sidlen  darkening;  and,  almost  without  w.nning,  down  sweeps 
the  gale  upon  this  placid  sea,  lashing  the  waves  into  fo.nn,  and  sending  them  thunder- 
ing u|)  to  a   vast   height   against  the  opposing  dill's. 

One    of    these    sudden    autumn    storms    overwhelmed     Major    Wilkins's    (Xpedition. 


532 


PICTURESQUE    AMERICA. 


ifl 


Kiil-Nhll    lalU,    Uliuk    kivr,    l-.lyrix 


Twenty  halcau.w  most  ol  tin  luld  -  piicos,  all  of  llif  amnumitidii,  seventy  men,  and 
three  ofTicers,  inclu(lin)r  the  surjjcon  ol  the  rejiiment,  were  lost.  The  survivors,  wet 
and  exhausted,  reached  the  shore;  and,  when  the  storm  had  subsided,  they  made  their 
way  hack  to  I'orl  Schlosser,  on  the  N'iaj^jara  River,  without  t  ven  atlenjptinjr,  in  their 
erippled  condition,  to  reach  the  besieged  garrison  of  Detroit.  Such  is  the  story  as  gath- 
ered iVom  the  curt  accounts  of  that  dav ;  but  the  exact  site  of  the  shipwreck  is  nut 
mentioned.  Here  it  is  that  the  mouth  of  Rocky  River  supplies  the  missing  links.  On 
the  plateau  overlooking  the  left  bank,  a  bayonet  was  thrown  out  by  a  plough  in  1859; 
and  near  it  a  circle  of  bowlders  was  uncover<'<l,  containing  the  ashes  of  a  camp-fire,  a 
case-knife,  and  the  blade  of  an  I-'nglish  amjiutaling-knife.  This  last  relic  probably  be- 
longed to  the  lost  surgeon,  Dr.  Williams,  of  the  I'ightielh  Regiment.  The  mouth  of 
Rocky  River  is  crossed  l)y  a  hidde:i  s.ind-bar,  and,  during  the  fall  storms,  the  channel  ib^ 


THE    SOUTH   SHORE    OE    LAKE    ERIE. 


533 


m. 


im% 


narrow  and  dangerous.  Upon  the  rij>;lit  shore  there  was  at  that  time  no  landing ;  but 
in  the  left  bank  was  i  gully,  which  led  to  the  plater.u  where  the  ashes  of  the  tire  and 
the  surgeon's  knife  were  found.  Here  the  survivors  assembled  and  spent  the  three  days 
(A  storni  (the  autumn  gales  of  lirie  eontinre  through  tiirce  days).  Tiic  camp-fire  and 
case-knife ;  the  portions  of  the  water-soaked  bateaux ;  the  gun-flints,  bayonets,  and  mus- 
ket-barrels;  an  ancient  and  elal)orately-finished  sword,  with  guard  and  lion's-head  hilt  of 
solid  silver;  but,  most  of  all,  the  peculiar  amputating-knifc — fi.\  the  site  of  Wilkins's  dis- 
aster at  the  mouth  of  the  picturesque   Rocky  River. 

A  short  distance  westward,  the  lake  has  another  storehousv'  of  relics.  Here,  in  1764, 
on  a  narrow,  exposed  beach,  Bradstreet's  expedition  also  was  wrecked  during  an  autumn 
storm.  iVccounts  of  this  disaster  are  given  in  I'arkman's  "  History,"  and  other  author- 
ities; but  the  exact  place  is  not  specified,  and  here,  again,  the  beach  speaks  for  itself. 
Portions  of  the  bateaux  have  teen  discovered,  six-pound  cannon-balls  and  a  number  of 
musket-balls,  a  stack  of  bayonets,  entire  and  perfect  musket-barrels,  silver  coins  of  171 7, 
and  several  anticiue  silver  spoons.  Mach  violent  storm  adds  to  the  relics,  and  the  fisher- 
man's   net   brings   them    ashore,  or  comes  up  cut  and  drawn    by  something   fixed    in    the 


V 


i-nty    men,   and 

survivors,  wet 

H'V  made  ihrir 

ipling,  in    their 

story  as  gatii- 
pwreck  is  nut 
ing  links.  On 
lough  in   1859; 

a  cam|>-fire,  a 
I  probably  hi- 
Thc    mouth   of 

the  channel  is 


Lumb«r-U<Mli,  i)«niluak>,  oliiu. 


534 


PICTURESQUE    AMERICA. 


m 


i 

t 
* 

I 

\ 

\ 


sandy  bottom,  probably  the  sharp  corners  of  other  bateaux.  After  the  wreck,  the  pro- 
vincials, or  American  soldiers,  under  General  Israel  Putnam,  were  left  to  find  their  way 
by  land  to  Niagara,  four  hundred  miles  distant,  through  a  wilderness  crossed  by  rivers 
and  swamps,  and  filled  with  hostile  Indians.  The  first  steps  of  their  way  from  the  beach 
are  marked  by  articles  thrown  down  to  lighten  their  burdens.  A  bayonet  was  recently 
found  fi.xed  in  the  clay  cliflT,  which  had  evidently  been  used  by  the  retreating  soldiers  as 
a  fi.xture  by  which  they  could  draw  themselves  up  to  the  top  of  the  bank.  At  another 
point  was  a  stack  of  bayonets  piUd  against  a  tree,  and  a  musket,  which  had  stood  as  it 
had  been  left  a  hundred  years  be/bn^,  leaning  against  the  crotch  of  a  tree  until  the  wood 
had  grown  completely  around  it.  Tiic  soldiers  suffered  severely,  and  many  of  them  died 
on  the  way.  It  was  December  before  the  last  stragglers  reached  the  gates  of  old  Fort 
Si-!.losser. 

West  of  Rocky  River,  the  Black,  Vermilion,  and  Huron  Rivers,  flow  into  the  hkc 
through  ravines  of  wild  beauty.  The  Black  River  is  a  beautiful  stream.  On  a  peninsula 
formed  by  its  forks  stands  the  town  of  Elyria,  a  name  which  is  unique,  ha^^ing  l)een  de- 
rived from  the  surname  of  the  first  proprietor,  "  Ely,"  and  the  last  syllable  ol  liis  wife's 
Christian  name,  "  ria,"  from  Maria.  The  river  falls  over  a  rocky  ledge,  forty-five  feet  in 
height,  in  two  streams;  and  its  whole  course  is  full  of  picturesque  beauties,  making  it 
remarkable  among  the  Lake-Erie  tributaries,  wi.ich,  for  the  most  part,  are  decorous,  un- 
interesting creeks,  coursing  along  slowly  between  tame  shores,  and  making  an  undignified 
entrance  into  the  lake  b;    oozing  through  I  lie  sand-bars  which  clog  up  their  passage. 

Beyond  tlie  Black  River,  westward  along  the  shore,  stretch  the  Eire-Lands.  This 
district  was  set  apart  by  Connecticut,  from  her  Western  Reserve  Lands,  for  the  aid  of 
sufferers  by  lire  in  New  London,  I'airficld,  and  Norwalk.  It  contained  seven  hundred 
and  eighty-one  S(piare  miles.  The  first  settlement  upon  the  I*"ire-Lands  was  made  in 
1808;  the  settlers  came  from  New  luigland,  and  for  several  years  they  suffered  every 
privation  in  this  lonely  wilderness.  In  a  manuscript  history  of  the  I'ire-Lands,  an  amus- 
ing description  is  given  of  their  determined  attempts  at  sociability  under  difficulties.  A 
family  arrived  from  Connecticut,  and,  after  considerately  giving  them  a  breathing-space  of 
several  months,  the  t'lilc  of  the  Fire-Lands  paiti  them  a  visit  of  welcome.  The  hostess 
was  delighted,  and,  according  to  the  laborious  custom  of  the  time,  prepared  to  honor 
them  with  a  feast.  Her  only  fire-proof  utensil,  however,  was  an  old,  broken  bake-pan. 
With  this  she  bravely  set  to  work.  First,  some  pork  was  fried  in  it  to  get  lard;  sec- 
ondly, douginuils  were  fried  in  ihe  lard;  thirdly,  short-cakes  wore  made  in  it;  fourthly, 
it  was  used  as  a  buckil  to  draw  water;  fifthly,  the  water  was  boiled  in  it;  and,  lastly, 
the  tea  was  made  in  it,  and  pronounced  excellent  by  the  waiting  guests. 

Sandusky,  the  "  Bay  City,"  has  spread  out  before  it  a  lovely  view.  The  town  itself 
is  not  busy  and  breezy  like  Buffalo,  nor  adorned  with  costly  n-sidences  like  Cleveland, 
neither    does   it    command,  like    Rocky   River,  a    I)!oad,  landless  ocean,  whose  waves   roll 


THE    SOUTH   SHORE    OF   LAKE    ERIE. 


535 


:ck,  the  pro- 
id  their  way 
;cd  by  rivers 
m  the  beach 
was  recently 
g  soldiers  as 
At  another 
d  stood  as  it 
ntil  the  wood 
of  them  died 
;  of  old   Fort 

into  the  U.ke 
)n  a  peninsula 
ivinfT  lieen  de- 
;   ol    his  wife's 
ty-five   feet   in 
ics,  making  it 
decorous,  un- 
an  undignifud 
eir  passage. 
;-Lands.      This 
for  the  aid  of 
seven  hundred 
was   made   in 
sufTered    ivery 
ands,  an  amus- 
(lilVieulties.     A 
.)tliing-spaee  ot 
The  liostcss 
lared   to   honor 
oken    i)ake-pan. 
)  get  lard;   sec- 
n    it  ;   fourthly, 
it  ;   and,  lastly. 

riic  town  itself 
like  Cleveland. 
Ill'-'-  waves  roll 


in  unbroken  and  dash  against  steep  cliffs.  But  lovely  is  the  bay  with  its  gently-sloping 
shores  and  island — its  river  coming  from  the  south  and  sweeping  past  the  town,  the 
peninsula   opposite   with    its   vineyard,  and    beyond,  in  the  broad   lake  outside,  the  wine- 


(llim|iM^  111    Samlunkv,  fnim   M.   I'auIN  t'hurcli. 

i-lands,  near  and  far,  stretching  one  after  the  other,  green,  puri)le,  a  cloud,  a  speck,  a 
mist,  towi.rd  the  Canada  shore.  It  is  a  peaceful  view,  also;  (iiie  is  not  here  called  upon 
In   calculate   the   statistics   of  grain,  oil,  or   iron,  and    count    the    prolits.     The   artist  and 


'k   I 


I 


536 


P/C TURESO UE    AMERICA. 


the  poet,  who  are  out  of  plaee  wliere  trallic  and  t'-jUars  rule,  might  take  to  tliemselves 
homes  on  tliese  lovely  *hores,  nor  ask  a  more  beautiful  prospect  than  this. 

Sandusky  has  a  mysterious  name,  whose  derivation  is  a  matter  of  dispute.  In  the 
early  days  a  l\)lish  trader,  named  Sandowski,  lived  upon  the  bay,  and  his  descendants 
claim  that  the  name  came  from  him ;  on  the  other  hand,  it  is  said  to  be  a  Wyandot 
word,  signifying  "  wells  of  cold  water."  The  searcher  for  the  picturesque,  whether  for 
eye  or  ear,  will  certainly  choose  tiie  Indian  derivation,  and  all  along-shore  he  will  tlo 
his  best  to  fix  these  half-forgotten  titles  on  the  bays  and  cliffs,  where  they  belong,  so 
that  they  who  come  after  mny  at  least  catch  the  echo  of  the  lingering  names  which  be- 
longed to  the  vanished  races  of  the  lake.  The  beautiful  country  around  Sandusky  was  a 
favorite  resort  of  the  Indians ;  they  hunted  on  the  slopes  and  fished  in  the  bay,  whose 
upper  waters  are  an  archipelago  of  green  islets,  abounding  in  ducks  and  other  water- 
birds.  Here  were  the  villages  of  the  Neutral  Nation,  a  remarkable  confederacy,  the 
bare  fact  of  whose  existence  among  savage  tribes  is  an  ant)maly  ;  the  meagre  ehronicKs 
of  the  first  explorers  speak  their  little  word  of  astonishment,  and  then  pass  on  to  their 
monotonous  record  of  massacres  and  miles.  We,  of  a  later  date,  pause  before  this  mar- 
vel, but  can  find  but  a  bare  outline  of  what  it  was.  Two  "  cities  of  refuge "  stood  on 
tiie  Sandusky  River,  and  whoever  entered  their  boundaries  was  safe  from  all  pursuit:  this 
sanctuary-land  was  guarded  by  bands  of  the  Neut'al  Nation,  who  permitted  hostile  war- 
parties  to  enter  and  rest  in  the  forts,  provided  tiiey  came  in  peace.  The  French  mis- 
sionaries speak  of  these  villages  as  huving  been  long  in  existence  when  they  visited  tin- 
lake  two  centuries  ago.  This  sacred  soil  of  peace  was  never  reddened,  this  sacred 
pledge  never  violated,  until  after  the  coming  of  the  whites,  when,  gradually,  the  Neu- 
tral Nation  was  driven  away,  and  the  land  they  guarded  desecrated  bv  the  shedding  ol 
blood.  The  jjoor  red-men  have  never  been  credited  with  a  taste  for  the  beautiful ;  in- 
deed, the  pioneers,  who  iiave  lixed  their  plaee  in  t'-e  world's  estimation,  considered  thcni 
little  better  than  the  bears,  ^'et  all  along  the  lake-shore,  if  we  discover  a  peculiarly 
lovely  island  or  bay,  like  this  of  Sandusky,  we  are  sure  to  tind  also  the  tradition  fhiil 
it  was  dear  to  the  Indians.  .Nowhere  on  I'>ie  could  the  Neutral  villages  be  so  litlv 
j)laced  as  here,  wheie  the  sheltered  gentle  water  speaks  the  very   language  of  peace. 

Sandusky  was  first  settled  in  1S17.  During  the  late  war,  Johnson's  Island,  lyint; 
opposite  the  city,  was  used  as  a  depot   for  Confederate  prisoners,  principally  officers. 

Sailing  out  through  the  bay,  passing  the  unwieldy  lumber-boats  coming  in  heavilv 
laden  from  the  lumber-country  of  Lake  Huron,  the  little  fishing-smacks,  and  the  liglil- 
house  on  its  point,  the  steamer  enters  the  lake,  and  turns  toward  KelKy's  Island.  Tliis 
group  of  islands,  fifteen  or  more  in  nutnber,  lying  in  the  southwestern  corner  of  F.akr 
Eric,  has  come  into  notice  at  a  comparatively  recent  date.  The  first  pioneers  preferred 
the  solid  main-land;  they  found  enough  to  do  in  forcing  their  forest-fields  to  vield  them 
sustenance  without    encountering   in    addition   the  dangers  of  this   inland   sea.     Even  tlu' 


THE    SOUTH   SHORE    OF   LAKE    ERIE. 


537 


to  tliemselvcs 

putc.  In  the 
s  descendants 
e  a  Wyandot 
;,  whether  fur 
re  lie  will  do 
ley  belong,  so 
mes  which  be- 
iindusky  was  a 

he  bay,  whose 
i   other  water- 

nfederacy,  the 
igre  chronicles 
iss  on    to  their 

fore  this   mar- 
"uge"  stood  on 
ill  pursuit:  this 
cd  hostile  war- 
le    French    niis- 
they  visited   the 
ed,    this    sacred 
lually,  the  Neii- 
he    shedding  of 
le   beautiful ;   in- 
considered  them 
iver  a  peculiarly 
e   traditio'i   that 
lages  i>e  so  fitly 
e  of  peace. 
11 's    Island,  lying 
illy  otTicers. 
ming    in    heavily 
s,  and   I  he   liglil- 
y's   Island.     This 

corner  of  Lake 
ioncers  preferrid 
(Is  to  yield  them 
1   sea.     I''ven   llu' 


grasping  land  compa- 
nies did  not  stretch 
their  hands  as  far  as 
this  vaguely  -  known 
group,  which  was, 
therefore,  left  to  the 
adventurers  who  hov- 
er in  front  of  civili- 
zation, and  disappear 
before  its  advance. 
These  adventurers  are 
not  free  from  a  sus- 
picion of  having  been 
fresh-water  buccaneers 
on  a  small  scale : 
wreckers  they  certain- 
ly were,  and  reaped  a 
good  harvest  en  their 
beaches  during  the 
autumn  storms.  But 
at  length  United 
States  surveys  were 
made,  the  land  was 
entered  and  pur- 
chased, farm  -  houses 
were  built,  and  fish- 
ermen, attracted  by 
the  number  of  bass, 
who  have  given  their 
name  to  a  portion 
of  the  group,  made 
their  homes  upon  the 
shores.  At  the  pres- 
ent day  there  is  a 
population  of  several 
tlu)usands. 

Kelley's  Island  is 
the  largest  of  the 
American  group,  con- 


> 


'^K^f.l 


m 


m 


ill 


538 


PICTURESQUE   AMERICA. 


taining  about  two  thousand  eight  hundred  acres.  There  is  here  an  Indian-writing  upon 
the  rock,  which  has  been  pronounced  the  best-sculptured  and  best-preserved  inscription 
in  the  West ;  it  probably  owes  its  distinctness  to  its  remote  situation,  at  the  end  of  an 
island,  which  has  remained  uninhabited  until  within  a  few  years.  The  almost  mythical 
tribe  of  Eries  had  here  a  fortified  retreat,  whose  outlines  can  still  be  traced,  and,  accord- 
ing to  interpretation,  the  inscription  refers  to  them,  and  their  final  destruction  by  the 
Iroquois. 

Put-in-Bay  Island  received  its  name  from  Commodore  Perry,  who  put  in  there  with 
his  fleet  before  and  after  the  battle  of  Lake  Erie,  during  the  War  of  1812.  After 
leaving  the  harbor  of  Presque  Isle,  where  he  had  built  his  war-vessels  from  the  growing 
forest.  Perry  made  sail   for  the   head  of  the  lake,  and  anchored  in  Put-in-Bay,  opposite 


Kelly's  Island. 


the  British  fleet,  which  lay  under  the  guns  of  Maiden,  on  the  Canadian  shore.  Here  he 
remained  for  some  days  watching  the  movements  of  the  enemy,  in  order,  if  possil)lc,  to 
bring  on  an  engagement.  At  length,  on  the  loth  of  September,  at  sunrise,  the  British 
squadron  of  sixty-four  guns  appeared  off  Put-in-Bay.  Perry  made  sail,  but,  owing  to  the 
light  bree/e,  it  was  after  eleven  o'clock  before  they  came  within  range  of  each  usher's 
guns.  Thus  for  several  hours  the  vessels  were  slowly  approaching  each  other,  aithouuh 
but  ten  miles  lay  between.  Perry  iiad  hoisted  a  Union  Jack  with  the  dying  words  dt 
Captain  Lawrence  for  a  motto:  "Don't  give  up  the  ship!"  The  men  cheered  the  little 
flag — only  a  y<nmg  commander  could  have  designed  it — and  then  silence  fell  as  the 
enemies  nearcd  each  other.  In  tliese  days  of  steam  and  .mprovements,  so  called,  in 
the  art   (if  warfare,  this   handlul    of  hastily-l>uilt,  unwieldy  wooden    vessels   at    F*ut-in-Biiy 


THE    SOUTH   SHORE    OF   LAKE    ERIE. 


539 


n-writing  upon 
ved  inscription 
the  end  of  an 
Imost  mythical 
;d,  and,  accord- 
truction    by  the 

it  in  there  with 
)f  1812.  After 
)m  the  growing 
in-Bay,  opposite 


shore.  Here  hr 
er,  if  possible,  tn 
nrise,  the  Britisli 
>ut,  owing  to  tlic 

of  each  oi*icr's 
1    other,  although 

dying  words  nf 

cheered  the  lit  1  If 

lence    fell    as    I  lie 

nts,    so    called,    in 

els   at    Put-in-Hiiv 


may  seem  insignificant. 
Yet  they  held  all  there 
is  of  heroism  and  bra- 
very in  man  ;  they 
counted  their  dead  by 
scores ;  they  infused 
new  courage  into  the 
dispirited  frontier;  and 
they  gained  for  the  na- 
tion the  control  of 
Lake  Erie,  which  has 
never  since  been  dis- 
puted. 

The  British  opened 
fire  from  their  long 
guns  upon  Perry's  flag- 
siiip,  the  Lawrence, 
which  was  alone  in  an 
exposed  position  in  ad- 
vance of  the  other  ves- 
sels, owing  to  the  im- 
petuous haste  of  the  gal- 
lant but  young  and  in- 
experienced commander. 
The  Lawrence  returned 
the  fire,  but  her  guns 
were  short,  and  could 
do  but  little  execution, 
while  her  own  decks 
were  swept  by  the  en- 
emy and  her  men 
picked  off  until  twen- 
ty were  killed,  sixty 
woimded,  and  every 
brace  and  bowline  cut. 
For  two  hours  the  flag- 
sliip  endured  the  whole 
fire  of  the  British  fleet 
concentrated   upon   her. 


Hi 


540 


PICTURESQUE    AMERICA, 


l\ 


The  men  remained  cool  and  determined;  as  fast  as  one  fell  another  took  his  place,  and 
when  all  were  disabled  or  dead,  and  every  gun  dismounted  but  one.  Perry  and  his  surviv- 
ing officers  took  hold  and  worked  that  to  the  last.  At  length,  about  two  o'clock,  a  fresh 
breeze  sprang  up,  and  the  Niagara  was  able  to  come  to  the  assistance  of  the  suffering 
flag-ship.  Perry  immediately  determined  to  transfer  his  quarters  on  board  of  the  unin- 
jured vessel,  and,  taking  his  little  Union  Jack  under  his  arm,  he  crossed  over  in  an  open 
boat  in  the  midst  of  the  broadsides  of  the  enemy  levelled  directly  at  him.  Reaching 
the  Niagara  in  safety,  he  hoisted  the  motto  again,  caused  the  other  vessels  to  be 
brought  up  into  position  with  sweeps,  ordered  a  general  engagement,  broke  through  the 
enemy's  line,  and  kept  up  his  fire  until  every  British  vessel  struck  her  colors.  The  en- 
gagement lasted  three  hours,  and  the  victory  was  decisive.  The  British  loss  was  large, 
and  Commodore  Barclay,  who  had  lost  an  arm  at  Trafalgar,  was  severely  wounded. 

After  the  battle  the  dead  were  buried;   the  officers  of  both  squadrons  were  laid  side 

by    side    in    a    grave    near    'he    beach    of  the    island. 
The   mound     is    marked    by    an    ancient    willow-tree. 
Thus   was   fought   the   battle    of  Lake   Erie,  and    the 
shore    is   never   weary    of  telling   the    tale.     At    Eric 
tiw/  have   the  old   flag-ship,  the   Lawrence;   at  Cleve- 
land they  have  the  commemorative 
statue ;    the    islands    are     clustered 
over   with   associations   of  the   en- 
gagement ;    and    one    county,    four 
towns,  and  twenty-six  townships,  in 
Ohio  alone,  recall  the  young  com- 
modore's name. 


-  '-'—-  '    — .^.^j^^^-iiL^-'- 

Pcrry's  Lookout,  r.ilirallar   Island. 


THE    SOUTH   SHORE    OF    LAKE    ERIE. 


541 


Perry's  Cave,  Put-in-Bay  Island. 


Put-in-Bay  is  a  lovely  sheet  of  water,  witli  Little  Gil)raltar  islet  nestled  in  its  cres- 
cent. Put-in-Bay  Island  has  two  large  summer  hotels  standing  among  its  vineyards. 
Roses  bloom  in  its  gardens  in  December. 

Some  or  the  islands  are  still  wild  and  i^ninhabited,  and  several  have  only  a  single 
family.  They  abound  in  caves  and  rocky  formations,  to  which,  in  many  instances,  Perry's 
name  is  attached.  Little  Gibraltar  is  crowned  with  the  towers  of  a  picturesque  villa;  it 
has  also  its  Sphinx  Head,  which  may  be  called  a  fresh-water  imitation  of  the  Egyp- 
tian queen.  The  Rattlesnake  Island  and  its  rattles  alone  preserve  the  memory  of  the 
real  aboriginal  inhabitants  of  the  group,  who,  according  to  the  geographies  of  the  last 
century,  "lay  in  acres  upon  the  lily-leaves  basking  in  the  sun,  and  hissing  out  a  breath 
which  struck  de„;h  to  the  incautious  mariner  who  ventured  near  these  isles  of  terror." 

Along  the  Sandusky  peninsula  and  over  the  islands  stretch  the  vineyards,  whose 
grapes  and  wine  form  the  feature  of  this  portion  of  the  shore.  Here  in  the  sunny 
autumn,  when  the  long  aisles  are  full  of  gatherers,  and  the  trelli-ses  are  heavy  with 
purple  bunches,  when  the  little  steamers  go  away  loaded  with  grapes,  and  the  presses  in 
the  wine-houses  crush  out  their  juice  by  day  and  by  night,  the  islands  are  like  an  en- 
chanted land,  watching  the  autumn  out  and  the  winter  in  with  light-hearted  joyousness. 
The  water  is  still  and  blue,  th''  colored  trees  are  reflected  in  its  mirror,  a  golden  haze 
shines  over  the  near  islands,  and  a  purple  shadow   lies  on  those  afar. 

West  of  the  I'ire-I  ands  lies  the  country  called  the  Black  Swamp,  well  known  in 
the  early  settlement  of  the  lake-shore,  and  even  now  retaining  enough  of  its  primitive 
character  to  justify  the  name.  This  district  is  one  hundred  and  twenty  miles  in  length 
and  forty  miles  in  breadth,  almost  eijualling  in  area  the  State  of  Connecticut.     The  oral 


542 


PIC TURESQUE   AMERICA. 


and  written  accounts  of  pioneer- life  in  Oiiio  are  full  of  dismal  tales  of  this  region. 
WiKl  beasts  roamed  in  its  fastnesses,  coining  out  into  the  settled  districts,  ravaging  the 
Hocks,  and  carrying  terror  to  the  isolated  homes  bordering  on  the  wilderness.  As  im- 
migration increased,  villages  sprang  up  on  all  sides,  hut  tiie  Swamp  itself  long  remained 
almost  an  unknown  land.  It  was  a  singular  regi»)n,  and  not  without  its  charm;  its 
level  surface  and  the  uniformity  of  its  soil  gave  to  the  forest  a  remarkable  regularity — 
the  trees  being  of  the  same  height,  extending  in  straight  ranks  mile  after  mile,  resem- 
bling from  a  distance  an  even,  blue  wall  against  the  sky.  The  foliage  was  .so  dense  that 
when  the  fust  roads  were  built  through  to  the  West  the  immigrants  travelled  for  days 
along  the  shadowed  aisles,  nor 
saw  the  sun  from  border  to  bor- 
der. This  long  twilight  anil  si- 
lence impressed  them  strangely, 
and,  bold  frontiersmen  as  they 
were,  ihey  drew  a  long  breath 


Sphinx  Head,  Gibraltar. 


when  they  emerged  into 
daylight,  and  the  open  coun- 
try beyond ;  and  ever  after- 
ward they  spoke  of  the 
journey  in  terms  which  seem  almost  poetical  when  compared  with  the  practical  prose 
of  their  ordinary  language.  But  it  was  not  the  poetry  of  admiration ;  it  was  a  vague 
fear,  a  vague  wonder  over  the  mystery  of  the  dark  labyrinth,  and  what  it  might  con- 
tain. \'et  it  was  not  a  land  of  desolation.  \'ines  and  blossoms  were  everywhere,  and 
birds  sang  among  the  branches.  It  was  the  mystery  that  impressed  them — "a  land  of 
the  shadow  of  death,"  they  called  it. 

The  soil  of  the  Black  Swamp  is  very  fertile ;  as  soon  as  it  is  drained  it  becomes  a 
garden — fruit,  grain,  and  vegetables,  spring  up  with  wonderful  rapidity,  and  already  many 
parts  of  the  territory  are  under  cultivation.  Towns  have  now  grown  up  within  its  bor- 
ders, and  the  locomotive  rushes  past  the  old  corduroy  roads  laid  on  the  quaking  morass, 


THE    SOUTH   SHORE    OF   LAKE    ERIE. 


543 


this   region, 
avuging  the 
is.      As   im- 
ijr   icmaineil 
charm ;   its 
regularity — 
mile,  rcscm- 
;o  dense  that 
lied   for   (lays 


emerged     into 
the  open  coun- 
and  ever    alter- 
spoke     of     the 
practieal    prose 
it  was  a   vague 
it   might   con- 
everywhere,  anil 
em—"  a  land  of 

d  it  becomes  a 
id   already  many 
within    its   hor- 
quaking  morass, 


over  which  the  immigrants  floundered,  and  thought  themselves  fortunate  if  they  escaped 
without  swimming.  The  name  and  its  associations  are  fading  away.  Two  opinions,  rep- 
resenting the  icsthetic  and  practical  idea  of  the  region,  are  recorded:  "It  is  a  magnifi- 
cent forest,"  writes  an  English  traveller.  "  It  is  a  miserable  bog,"  writes  a  New-England 
immigrant.     Both  were  sincere. 

As  the  lake-shore  is  divided  into  districts  whose  boundaries,  although  not  to  be 
found  on  any  map  of  the  day,  are  yet  better  known  than  tiie  carefully-marked  lines 
of  the  counties ;  as  these  districts  have  names  of  their  own,  often  spoken,  although 
not  set  down  in  the  geographies — so  each  has  its  one  city,  and  one  only,  as  though 
Chance  had  set  to  work  to  build  up  a  capital  for  the  chance  divisions,  and  prove  her 
own  superiority  to  arbitrary  laws.  Thus  the  Holland  Purchase  has  IJuffalo;  the  Triangle 
has  Erie ;  the  Western  Reserve  has  Cleveland ;  the  Fire-Lands  have  Sandusky ;  and  the 
Black  vSwamp  has  Toledo. 

This  city,  witli  its  Spanish  name,  stands  on  the  Maumee,  a  river  which  once  bore 
the  melodious  title  of  Miami  of  the  Lakes;  Ohio  having  already  two  Miamis,  the  name 
of  the  northern  river  was  changed.  Toledo  is  four  miles  from  the  mouth  of  the  river, 
and  ten  miles  from  the  lake,  Maumee  Hay  lying  between.  It  ranks  fourth  among  the 
Lake-Erie  cities — Cleveland,  Detroit,  and  Buffalo,  exceeding  it  in  size. 

The  river-valley  south  of  Toledo  was  a  continual  battle-ground  during  the  early  days 
of  the  nation,  after  the  Declaration  of  Independence  ;  and,  if  there  was  any  danger  of  a 
collision  between  the  British,  Americans,  or  Indians,  it  was  sure  to  take  place,  at  last, 
on  the  ill-fated  Maumee.  Its  early  maps  bristle  with  forts  ;  the  sketches  of  its  history 
are  crowded  with  skirmishes.  Although  peace  was  declared  between  Great  Britain  and 
the  United  States,  out  here  on  the  Western  border  animosity  still  raged,  and  the  treach- 
ery of  the  Indians  provoked  continual  warfare.  The  story  of  the  Maumee  during  these 
years,  and  until  after  the  War  of  1812,  was  but  a  succession  of  marches  and  counter- 
marches, treaties  of  peace,  massacres,  retreats,  and  attacks,  following  each  other  with  per- 
plexing rapidity;  and  the  only  figure  that  stands  out  clearly  is  mad  Anthony  Wayne, 
called  by  the  Indians  the  "Wind,"  because  he  "drives  and  tears  every  thing  before  him." 
General  Wayne's  decisive  battle  was  fought  on  the  Maumee,  in   1794. 

A  few  miles  beyond  Maumee  Bay  the  coast  turns  sharply  to  the  north;  the  Black 
Swamp  is  left  in  the  southwest;  and  the  boundary-line  of  Michigan  is  passed.  The 
eastern  end  of  Lake  Erie  slopes  to  a  point  at  Buffalo,  both  shores  coming  toward  each 
other,  and  making  a  natural  gate-way  for  the  Niagara  River.  But  the  western  end  is 
blunt  and  unyielding.  The  Detroit  River  has  no  gate-way ;  it  comes  unexpectedly  into 
the  lake  from  a  broad  shore;  its  mouth  is  clogged  with  islands;  and  there  is  nothing 
to  indicate  the  entrance  of  a  grand  strait,  which  in  its  peculiar  beauty  has  no  peer 
lliroughout  a  chain  that  holds  the  Saut  Ste.  Marie,  the  St.  Clair,  the  Niagara,  and  the 
St.  Lawrence.     The  northward-sloping  coast  of  Michigan— sixty  miles  in  length,  between 


544 


PICTURESQUE    AMERICA. 


KOI 


the  Ohio  boundary  and  the 
city  of  Detroit — is  a  green, 
fertile  shore,  with  numerous 
little  rivers  flowing  through 
it,  and  a  more  gentle  as- 
pect than  the  north  and 
south  coast  -  lines  of  Ohio 
and  Canada.  This  territory 
has  had  two  distinct  settle- 
ments— the  French,  which 
is  ancient ;  and  the  Ameri- 
can, which  is  comparatively 
modern.  The  French  had 
here  their  little  domiciles  a 
century  and  a  half  ago,  but 
it  was  not  until  1830  that 
American  emigration  flowed 
freely  into  Michigan  Terri- 
tory ;  and  Ohio  had  a  set- 
tled population  of  New- 
luigland  cylonists,  with 
their  schools  and  churches, 
and  had  sent  her  pioneers 
into  Indiana  and  Illinois, 
while  the  Detroit  sliore 
remained  wholly  I'rtnch. 
The  unextinguished  Indian 
titles,  the  foreign  ideas  ol 
the  inhabitants,  and  tlie 
barrier  of  the  Black  Swamp 
lying  in  the  way,  ke|)t  th( 
emigrants  from  this  h)V('l\ 
land.  In  tlie  mean  time,  llu 
French  settlers  remained 
undisturbed  in  flieir  lilllr 
houses  along  (he  shore;  for. 
according  to  a  law  of  tin 
scif^ncuric,  each  lot  had 
a    narrow    water-front,   and 


mmm 


dary  and  the 
— is  a  green, 
ith  numerous 
ving  through 
e  gentle    as- 
2    north    and 
nes  of  Ohio 
This  territory 
listinct  settle- 
Tench,   which 
d  the  Ameri- 
comparatively 
;    French    had 
le  domiciles  a 
I  half  ago,  but 
iitil    1830  that 
igration  iUnvcd 
lichigan  Tcrri- 
ihio  had  a  set- 
ion     of    New- 
^)lonists,     \vitli 

and  churches, 
t  her  |)ioneers 
1    and    Illinois, 

Detroit  shore 
,'holly  French, 
guished  Indian 
)nign  ideas  of 
ants,  and  the 
c  Black  Swamp 
•  way,  kept  tin 
-oin  this  lovely 
;  mean  lime,  thi 
tiers  remained 
in  tl\i'ir  little 
r  the  shore;  for, 
0   a  law  of  till' 

each     lot     had 
water-front,    and 


">£: 


-^ 


I 


-  ». 


V 


^: 


'';^ 


N 


mm. 


tmmmmami 


THE    SOUTH   SIIORH    OF   LAKH    ERII-. 


545 


could  only  extend  a  short  distance  back — a  requirement  which  kept  all  the  houses  clinjiinjj 
on  the  bank,  and  ^ave  the  coast  a  settled  appearance,  although  halt'  a  mile  inland  the 
primitive  forest  remained  unbroken.  From  the  river  Raisin,  which  (lows  into  Lake  I>ie 
near  the  present  (own  of  Monroe,  as  far  north  as  Lake  St.  Clair,  tiiis  line  of  I'lcneh  cab- 
ins e.xtentled.  The  |)eo])le  were  a  jrav,  contented  race,  raising  the  same  little  crops  in  the 
same  little  fields  year  after  \'ear,  and  ,u;rintlin<r  their  Indian-corn  and  wheal  in  rude  wind- 
mills, some  of  which  are  still  to  be  seen  on  the  shore.  Alone  of  all  the  colonists  of  the 
New  World,  these  l''ii;ichmen  readily  assimilated  themselves  with  the  Indians;  and,  by 
adopting  some  of  the  forest  customs,  thev  lived  in  peaceful  friendship  with  the  very  tribes 
whom   the    Lnglish  and  Americans    rej^arded    as   treacherous   and    cruel.      I'rcnch    traders 

establislied  posts  alon<f  the  frontier;  b'rench  coiirciirs  dcs  dois 
penetrated  beyond  the  Mississippi  ;  I'rench  voyai^ciirs  puddled 
their  canoes  from  Lake  Superior  to  iIr'  St.  Lawrence — unmo- 
lested  and   successful;    while    tlu'    hunters    and    trailers    of   other 

nations  lived  in  constant  tlan- 
jrer  of  massacre.  The  |-'rench 
of  the  Litroit  River  were  Ro- 
man Catholics,  and  thou<.rht  not 
of  resistiiiir  the  easy  ruK'  of 
their  priests  ;  tlH\'  attended 
mass  oi  Simda\-,  and  finisheil 
the  (lav  bv  dancinsz  on  the 
Lfreen,  aecoiding  to  the  ( )ld- 
W'tiild  custom.    The'   cared   not 


n  7j>,fi 


Wimlmill,  miiKMilc    IKImii. 


546 


PICTURESQUE    AMERICA. 


w 


to  acquire  land  ;  they 
thought  not  of  the  future ; 
they  raised  enough  grain 
to  support  themselves  from 
year  to  year,  and  no  more. 
Indolent  and  improvident? 
Yes ;  but  brave  and  gen- 
erous as  well.  Give  them 
their  due.  Every  difficulty 
was  referred  to  the  com- 
mandant at  Detroit,  and 
his  decision  was  final.  At 
a  later  date,  when  the  com- 
pact, white  houses  of  New- 
England  settlers  began  to 
appear  among  the  French 
cabins,  and  when  courts  of 
the  United  States  were  es- 
tablished, much  difficulty 
was  experienced  from  these 
feudal  customs.  The  French 
witnesses  could  speak  no 
English  ;  and,  accustomed 
as  tiu'y  were  to  the  |)lain 
"yes"  and  "no"  of  militarv 
rule,  they  could  not  under- 
stand the  law's  delays  and 
finely -drawn  lines,  and  in 
not  a  few  instances  tliev 
took  to  the  law  of  steel 
and  cudgel  to  defend  their 
rights  against  the  lawyers. 

At  Fivne'ifown,  now 
Monroe,  twenty-tive  tniles 
above  Toledo,  occurred  ;i 
bloody  massacre  of  Ameri- 
can soldiers,  during  the  Wai 
of  I  Hi  2. 

There    are    fifteen    isl- 


THE    SOUTH   SHORE    OE    LAKE    ERIE. 


547 


an-    (iltecn    isl- 


ands within  the  first  twelve  miles  of  the  Detroit  River.  Father  Hennepin,  who  passed 
up  the  strait  in  1679,  enthusiastically  writes:  "The  islands  are  the  finest  in  the 
world;  the  strait  is  finer  than  Niagara;  the  banks  are  vast  meadows;  and  the  pros- 
pect is  terminated  with  some  hills  crowned  with  vineyards,  trees  bearing  good  fruit, 
groves  and  forests  so  well  disposed  that  one  would  thin);  that  Nature  alone  could  not 
have  made,  without  the  help  of  art,  so  charming  a  prospect."  The  good  father  spoke 
but  the  truth.  The  river  has  neither  foam,  rapids,  nor  mountains  ;  it  has  not  that  sweep 
to  the  sea,  that  incoming  of  the  salt  tide,  which  give  to  the  ocean-rivers  their  majesty  ; 
yet  it  is  a  grand  strait,  full  to  the  very  brim  of  its  green  shores,  calm,  deep,  and  beau- 
tiful. 

Three  miles  below  Detroit  stands  Fort  Wayne,  the  strongest  military  post  on  the 
lakes.     Its  guns  command  the  channel. 

The  city  of  Detroit,  with  the  exception  of  Mackinac,  the  first  white  settlement  in 
the  Northwest,  was  visited  by  the  French  in  16 10.  A  permanent  settlement  was  made 
there  in  1701  by  La  Motte  Cadillac,  when  a  fort  was  built  and  named  I'ontchartrain, 
after  the  French  colonial  minister.  Some  yiars  later  a  colony  of  French  emigrants  was 
sent  out  from  France,  who,  mingling  with  tlie  Indians,  began  that  race  of  half-breeds 
whose  history  is  indissolubly  connected  with  the  history  of  tiie  fur-trade.  .\  brench 
military  and  trading  post,  Detroit  was  unlike  the  other  lake-cities,  and  many  of  its  origi- 
nal characteristics  still  appear — French  names  and  customs,  a  deference  to  military  rule, 
and  a  certain  insouciance,  which  no  New-England  blood  can  acijuire.  Down  the  D'Ftroit, 
or  strait,  in  the  early  days,  came  twice  a  year  the  train  of  bateaux  and  canoes  laden 
with  furs  from  the  fiir  West  and  the  Red  River  of  tiie  North.  Then  came  days  of 
gayety  anu  dancing,  music  and  drinking,  ending  with  prayers  and  vows  in  the  little 
church  with  two  bells;  and  then  adieu!  and  away  they  went  again,  leaving  Detroit  to 
another  si.\  months'  (|uiet.  In  1805  the  old  town  was  burned,  and  the  new  town  which 
arose  on  the  site  was  laid  out  with  more  regularity,  but  at  the  expense  of  its  pictu- 
resque quaintness.  The  flag  Hying  over  it  has  been  changed  five  times  in  the  following 
order:  French,  British,  American,  Mritish,  .American.  .Xnd  it  has  l)een  the  scene  of  one 
surrender,  twelve  massacres,  and  fifty  battles.  It  is  a  veteran  town  compared  \.o  Cleve- 
land and   Ikillali).     It   was  already  a  century  t)ld  when  they  were  born. 

The  central  figure  of  Detroit  history  is  Pontiac,  the  great  Ottawa  chieftain.  Ik- 
was  the  king  of  the  river — the  only  Indian  who,  in  the  history  ol  America,  proved 
himself  a  match  for  the  white  man  in  far-ieacliing  sagacity  -the  oidy  Indian  who  suc- 
ceeded in  forming  and  maintaining  powerful  comt>inations  among  the  discordant  tribes. 
The  masterpiece  of  Pontiac's  life  was  a  conspiracy  to  ca|)ture  siinultancously  on  a  fixed 
day  all  the  British  posts  in  the  West,  twelve  garrisoned  forts,  extending  from  Niagara  to 
Pittsburg,  along  the  lake-shore,  and  on  as  far  as  the  Mississi|)pi.  In  such  a  wide  field 
many  tribes  must  act,  and  many  clashing  interests  must  be  reconciled ;  and  yet  such  was 


IP  ' 


.^5 

01.ANCR     AT     D.tTnOIT     rnOM     THE    CITY     HAUL 


THE    SOUTH   SHORE    OF   LAKE    ERIE. 


549 


the  personal  influence  of  Pontiac  that  the  plan  was  carried  out :  nine  of  the  posts  were 
taken  upon  the  same  day,  and  their  garrisons  massacred.  Detroit  made  a  successful  re- 
sistance, owing  to  the  warning  of  an  Indian  girl— the  Pocahontas  of  the  West.  Pcntiac, 
however,  besieged  the  little  town,  and  would  have  conquered  it  had  not  a  letter  arrived 
from  the  French  commander-in-chief,  stating  that  peace  had  been  declared  between  Great 
Britain  and  France,  and  ordering  an  immediate  cessation  of  hostilities. 

Above  the  city  the  Detroit  River  curves  to  the  eastward  and  enters  Lake  St.  Clair. 
Here  are  long  lines  of  lumber-barges  with  their  tu^^  schooners  with  their  raking  masts," 
leaning  far  over  under  a  cloud  of  canvas,  brigs  with  tiieir  high-lifted,  aggressive  sails, 
scows  with  their  yellow  wings  spread  widely  to  the  breeze,  and  steamers  coming  up  and 
passing  them  all  in  the  evening  race  to  the  Flats,  through  whose  narrow  canal  or  tor- 
tuous channel  one  and  all  must  pass  before  darkness  comes,  or  lie  at  anciior  until  morn- 
ing. On  they  sail  through  the  golden  afternoon — the  red  sunset  and  dusky  twilight — and 
as  they  pass  Fort  (iratiot  and  enter  the  broad  Lake  Huron,  night  closes  down  on  the 
dark  water,  lights  are  run  up  to  tiie  mast-heads  of  the  r.teamers,  tiie  vessels  twinkle  in 
red  and  green,  and  Lake  Erie,  its  scenery,  history,  and  associations,  vanish  in  dreams. 


Di'lioil   Uivtr,  nliovc  llic  City. 


J.-  /.M   ' 


ON    THE    COAST    OF    CALIFORNIA. 


WITH    ILLUSTRATIONS    HY    R.    SWAIN    GIFFORI). 


T  T  must  be  admitted  hy  tourists  that  the  State 
of  California  possesses  a  greater  range  of  in- 
terest than  almost  any  other  part  of  the  globe. 
Already  in  this  work  have  been  deseribed  the  fa- 
mous Yosemite  region  and  the  country  between 
the  Sacramento  and  the  Willamette  Rivers.  It  is 
now  our  purpose  to  depict  that  portion  of  the 
State  washed  by  the  surf  of  the  Pacific,  and  which 
is,  for  the  most  part,  walled  in  toward  the  east 
l»y  the  mountains  of  the  Coast  Range.  This 
strip  of  territory  is  of  variable  breadth ;  some- 
times the  mountains  recede  from  tiie  sliore  os 
if  dreading  the  fury  of  the  ocean,  and  sometimes 


ON    THE    COAST   OF    CALIFORNIA. 


55' 


they  press  boldly  to  its  very  brink,  and  run  out  huge  promontories  far  into  the 
proper  domains  of  the  many-voiced  deep.  The  vicinity  of  such  places,  for  many  miles, 
bears  the  impress  of  this  eternal  contest,  in  the  shape  of  huge  masses  of  basaltic  and 
trap  rocks,  which  have  been  torn  apart  by  the  waves,  and  which  stand  sometimes 
isolated,  sometimes  in  groups  in  the  midst  of  the  waters.  All  along  the  coast-line,  from 
Eureka,  on  Humboldt  Bay,  to  Sonoma  County,  the  shore  is  rendered  interesting  by 
these  gigantic  fragments,  around  which  the  wind  howls  with  fruitless  fury,  and  where 
the  wild  birds  of  the  ocean  congregate  in  myriads,  deafening  the  tourist  with  their  tu- 
multuous cries.  Interesting  and  peculiar  as  this  region  is,  it  has  never  been  portrayed 
either  by  pen  or  pencil  until  the  present  time.  The  wonderful  attractions  of  other  por- 
tions of  this  favored  State  have  formed  grooves  of  travel  from  which  it  requires  con- 
siderable effort  to  emerge.  Nor  can  the  writer  conscientiously  promise  to  the  brave 
who  venture  to  follow  in  this  route  the  pleasant  hotels  and  the  agreeable  accommoda- 
tions which  are  to  be  found  elsewhere.  No — the  coast  counties  north  of  the  bay  of 
San  Francisco  are  the  camping-ground  of  the  Pike,  and  south  of  it  the  Greaser  flour- 
ishes almost  as  freely  as  in  the  days  before  the  conquest.  The  tide  of  immigration 
has  set  hitherto  toward  the  mines  or  to  the  glorious  valleys  of  the  interior,  rich  with 
all  the  luxuriance  of  tropical  climes.  The  Coast  Range  of  mountains  has  cut  off  this 
part  of  California  from  observation  and  from  settlement,  and  the  fertile  land  is  but  little 
tilled.  Here  and  there,  no  doubt,  are  fields  of  excellent  wheat,  and  in  favored  spots 
are  patches  of  tlie  vegetables  which  tlie  Missourians  love,  and  orchards  of  fruit-trees, 
planted  long,  long  ago  by  the  padres  in  the  mission  days.  But,  for  the  most  part,  the 
face  of  the  country  is  covered  with  herds  of  cattle  and  with  droves  of  pigs. 

The  inhal)itants  of  the  coast  are,  for  the  most  part,  Missourians;  but  there  is  a 
lingering  remnant  of  the  Spaniard,  and  a  trace  of  the  Russian,  dating  l)ack  from  tlie 
far-away  times  wlien  the  Russian  b^ir  Company  was  cstablisiied  here,  and  was  a  |)o\ver 
in  tiie  land.  The  means  of  travelling  are  twofold — the  mud-wagon  in  summer  and  the 
stage  in  winter — tlie  stage  being  of  that  ponderous  variety  known  as  the  Concord.  A 
pleasanter  way  than  either  is  to  go  on  horseback ;  and  tiie  mustangs,  which,  though 
small  ill  size,  are  excellent,  can  be  purchased  for  a  moderate  sum.  The  roads  are  not 
very  good,  it  must  be  confessed ;  and  there  are  bad  bits,  especially  where  the  track 
winds  round  the  base  of  a  mountain.  But  they  are  good  enough  to  the  contentetl 
mind,  and  stage  communication  has  never  been  interrupted.  The  tourist  will  find  little 
sceuerv  of  sufficient  grandeur  to  interest  him  until  he  approaciies  Cape  Mendocino. 
Here  the  mountains,  which  previously  weie  low  down  upon  the  line  of  the  horizon,  come 
right  up  to  tiie  sea.  After  crossing  the  Eel  River,  a  stream  of  considerable  niagnilude, 
the  road  winds  along  the  skirts  of  Mount  Pierce,  a  huge  mountain,  wiiich  terminates  a 
long  range  of  high  hills,  running  iiarallel  to  and  nol  far  from  tlie  sea-coast.  The  sides 
of  Mount   Fierce  are  positively  covered  with  tlie   famous  red-wood;   and  the  eye   ranges 


ON    THE    COAST    OF    CALIFORNIA. 


553 


over  miles  and  miles  of  this  magnificent  tree  without  detecting  any  other  kind.  Some 
of  these  are  no  less  than  three  hundred  feet  liigh  and  twelve  feet  in  diameter,  and  the 
magnificence  of  these  mountain-forests  can  well  be  imagined.  In  tiie  early  morning,  as 
the  mud-wagon  painfully  climbs  up  the  foot-hills,  the  eye  delightedly  watches  the  mist 
slowly  dej)arting  from  the  tall  tops  of  these  giants.  A  thick  veil  lies  upon  the  clifTs 
and  the  sea,  also  unillumined  by  the  sun.  To  the  left,  however,  slanting  arrows  of  red 
light  come  up  beside  the  crags  and  fall  upon  the  columnar  trunks  of  the  red-woods. 
The  deep-green  leaves  seem  gilded  at  the  edges,  and  the  bark  of  cinnamon-color  glows 
under  the  red  rays.  Above,  half-way  up  the  trees,  there  is  a  point  where  the  early  sun- 
light and  the  mist  are  at  strife.  At  this  place  th';  mist  wreathes  and  circles  about  under 
the  influence  of  the  sun,  and  this  movement  communicates  itdf  slowly,  very  slowly, 
to  the  deep  bank  of  mist  above,  where  the  grays  are  pure,  and  have  no  contact  with 
the  glowing  arrows  of  Phoebus  Apollo.  The  sky  above  is  wonderfully  clear,  tinged  a 
little  with  saffron  back  of  the  mountain,  and  a  few  stars  tremble  lazily  over  the  deep, 
dark  pall  of  gray  fog  that  overhangs  the  ocean.  We  can  hear  the  slow,  solemn  pulsing 
of  the  waves  and  the  roar  of  the  breakers  as  they  beat  upon  the  rocks.  A  few  light, 
wandering  cirri  suddenly  become  visible  overhead,  ;i  tongue  of  fire  licks  the  topmost 
crag  of  Mount  Pierce,  and  warms  its  barrenness.  The  cloudlets  become  a  pale  red,  the 
mist  upon  the  trees  creeps  up  higher,  and  more  and  more  of  the  dense  foliage  becomes 
visible.  In  five  minutes,  while  we  are  gazing  at  the  light  moving  upon  the  crags  of 
the  mountain-side,  and  the  mist  dejiarting  from  the  red-woods  upon  its  broad  Hanks,  all, 
all  has  become  clear;  and  seaward  the  eyes  are  charmed  with  such  a  bit  of  rugged 
grandeur  as  the  artist  has  depicted.  The  cliffs  are  not  high,  but  along  them  are  the 
fragments  that  the  sea  in  its  fury  has  overwhelmed  after  centuries  of  never-ending  war- 
fare. In  a  kind  of  inlet,  standing  like  the  monument  of  some  great  (jne  in  a  market- 
place, is  an  isolated  rock  of  fantastic  shape.  It  is  of  basalt,  seamed  and  scarred  very 
strangely.  The  sea  has  worn  a  passage  through  the  base,  through  which  the  waters 
plash  and  rage  unceasingly.  The  height  of  the  arch  thus  made  gives  us  an  idea  of  the 
fury  of  the  storins  that  have  beat  upon  this  tower  of  the  sea-birds.  If  this  did  not 
exist,  we  might  infer  it  from  the  difference  of  color  in  the  rock.  Above,  ,the  tones  are 
pure  gray ;  but  below,  where  the  tempest  reaches,  of  a  dark-brown.  The  crest  is  of  a 
dazzling  white,  from  the  guano  of  the  wild-fowl  that  inhabit  there,  and  breed  and 
bring  up  their  young.  In  the  early  morning  they  are  silent  until  the  mist  has  lifted; 
then  one  starts  up,  and  he  goes  circling  round  the  cliff,  pouring  out  harsh  and  dis- 
cordant cries,  then  another  joins  in,  and  another,  until  all  the  adult  birds  are  on  the 
wing,  and  the  rock  is  left  in  possession  of  the  young  ones,  that  scream  for  food  as 
long  as  they  can  see  a  single  bird  in  tiie  air.  In  a  few  minutes,  of  all  the  thousands 
of  birds  that  were  circling  about,  not   half  a  dozen   aie   in   sight.     All   have  gone  a-fish- 

ing  in  such   places  as  they  are  acquainted  with  ;   and,  if  one   might  linger,  doubtless   he 

■m 


ON    THE    COAST    OF    CALIFORNIA. 


555 


would  see  the  birds  return  one  by  one  with  food  for  their  young  ones.  Among  the  in- 
hai)itants  of  such  rock';  the  pelican,  tlio  cuiuioraiii,  and  the  large  kind  of  sea-gull,  are 
the  most  conspicuous,  but  occasionally  there  is  a  fowl  called  the  murre,  whose  eggs  are 
considered  a  great  delicacy,  and  are  sold  by  hundreds  of  thousands. 

Nothing  can  be  more  tumultuous  or  less  pacific  than  the  waters  of  the  Pacific 
Ocean  along  the  Mendocino  ccjast.  Where  tiicre  is  a  sandy  beach,  which  is  not  often, 
it  is  pleasant  to  watch  the  incoming  waves,  and  to  compare  them  with  those  c  f  the 
Atlantic.  We  at  once  perceive  that  there  is  a  considerable  difference.  In  the  Atlantic 
the  surf  is  seldom  more  than  six  feet  high,  and  the  serried  line  of  waters  that  comes 
dashing  onward  is  rarely  more  than  two  hundred  yards  long.  In  fact,  gazing  at  the  sea 
that  l)reaks  upon  the  Long-IJranch  shore,  or  upon  the  sands  of  Cape  May,  or  upon 
the  western  side  of  Martha's  Vineyard,  or  upon  the  petrified  beach  of  Santo  Domingo, 
one  can  see  without  difficulty  ten  or  a  dozen  waves  breaking  on  the  shore  or  advancing 
in  line,  all  within  the  field  of  vision  afforded  by  one  glance.  It  is  not  so  here.  The 
waves,  in  the  first  place,  are  not  so  frequent.  Accustomed  to  tiie  Atlantic  quick  pulsa- 
tion, the  traveller  waits  with  impatience,  even  with  a  degree  of  pain,  for  the  roar  of  the 
breakers  on  the  Pacific  coast,  and  has  about  concluded  that  the  sea  has  given  the  thing 
up  as  a  bad  job,  when  tiie  tremendous  boom  bursts  suddenly  and  unexpectedly  upon 
his  ear.  Then  tiie  waves  are  twelve  feet  high  and  a  mile  in  length,  and  advance  with 
a  solemnity  of  motion  which  words  cannot  describe.  The  curves  described  by  the  fall- 
ing crests  of  such  waves  are  infinitely  finer  than  any  thing  which  the  Atlantic  pre- 
sents ;  and  tiie  boiling  fury  witii  which  they  crash  upon  the  beach  and  churn  the 
sands  is,  at  first  sight,  appalling.  Around  such  isolated  r(>cks  as  those  presented  by  the 
artist  they  rage  and  raven,  like  the  dogs  which  the  poets  fabled  around  Scylla.  All 
along  the  Mendocino  coast  they  have  worn  the  cliffs  into  strange  and  wondrous  forms, 
beating  out  caverns  where  the  lower  part  is  conglomerate  rock,  and  scries  of  arched  cel- 
lars, into  which  tuns  of  sea-weed  and  dt'bris  are  thrown.  The  basalt,  which  is  the  lead- 
ing character  of  the  crust,  is  not  uniform  in  texture,  some  parts  being  very  much  softer 
than  others.  Wiierever  this  occurs  in  tlie  proximity  of  the  waters,  they  have  invariably 
scooped  out  the  soft  rock,  making  all  kinds  of  mystic  arches,  siren  rings,  and  gate- 
ways of  Poseidon.  This  is  not  infreijuent,  and  occasionally  happens  in  spots  accessible 
to  the  human  foot,  sometimes  even  in  close  neighborhood  to  the  stage-road.  The  sur- 
face is  covered  with  a  rank,  coarse  grass,  which  even  mules  disdain,  and  wiiieh  the 
wandering  goat  will  not  even  look  at.  Sometimes  a  cactus  will  bloom  along  the  cliffs, 
and  there  is  a  species  of  thistle,  with  very  handsome  bluish-green  leaves  and  a  large 
yellow  flower.  If  a  traveller  wants  to  get  out  and  smoke  a  pipe  in  contemplative 
mood,  reclining  on  the  cliffs  and  listening  to  the  strange  gurgling  of  the  sea  pouring 
through  the  passages,  the  drivers  of  the  wagons  are  most  obliging,  and  never  foil  to 
stop.    Truth  to  tell,  they  are  not  often  asked,  for  the   population    consists  of  those   who 


556 


PICTURESQUE    AMERICA. 


caro  moiv  for  \\o^  and  hom- 
iny tlian  for  the  strangest 
sijjht  that  ever  Mother  Na- 
ture wroufrht. 

The  hotels  along  tlie  line 
are  few  in  nuniher,  hut  there 
are  plenty  of  saw-mills,  win  re 
one  can  ohtain  fair  accommo- 
dations. At  Mendocino  (Jity 
it  is  advisable  to  halt  for  a 
few  days  and  rest.  The  load 
has  been  all  tin  way  through 
mountains,  and  continues  to 
be,  though  back  of  the  hills 
that  hem  in  this  city  there 
is  a  su|)erb  siretch  of  level 
country,  Uno\vn  as  the  Long 
X'allev,  which  is  watered  b\ 
the  main  fork  of  the  b'el 
ki\er,  which  is  crossed  tin 
hist  (lav  i.fter  leaving  luncka. 
The  mountains  j)ress  closer 
and  closer  to  the  sea  until 
we  arrive  at  the  mouth  ol 
Russian  River,  south  of  which 
the  Russian  I'ur  Companv  had 
its  station.  This  is  not  a  ver\ 
large  stream,  and  is  onlv  navi- 
gable for  about  twelve  milt-- 
from     its    mouth;     but     iIkk 


ari'     manv 


bank 


au( 


aw-mills     on     ib 
I     liodega,  the  nt  ii 


est    town,   does   (|uite   a    luui 


ber-l 


lusmess. 


Tl 


le  «'nl ranee  tn 


(he  mouth  of  Russian  Riv(  i 
is  (|uite  |iictines(|ue  Then 
are  nmnbeis  of  schooners  an<l 
sloops  laden  with  red-wood. 
sumc  going  north,  to  Portland 


op   and  hom- 

thc     strangest 

Mother    Na- 

ilonji   till'   line 
ber,  but  there 
iw-mills,  where 
fair  accommo- 
cndocino  City 
to   liail     for  a 
est.     '1  he  roail 
way   throiigli 
continues    to 
k    of  the   hills 
his    eity    there 
retell    of    level 
as    the  l.oiifi 
is    watered    b\ 
;     of     the     I'd 
is    crossed    tlu 
caving  liureka. 
^     I  tress    closer 
the    sea    until 
he    mouth    ol 
south  of  which 
Conipany  hai! 
s  is  not  a  vei\ 
1  is  oidy  navi- 
iwelve    mill'- 
lli;     hut     there 
niilN     on     ii^ 
leua,  the  neai- 
(|uile    a    luni- 
he  entrance  lo 
Russian    Kivei 
(S(|ui'       Then' 
Si  hooners  and 
Mill     red-wood. 
ih,  to  Portland 


I 


558 


PICTURESQUE    AMERICA. 


li 


— others  south,  to  San  Francisco,  Montcrcv,  ami  as  Jar  down  as  the  Isthmus.  Tlic  north- 
ern side  of  the  Httle  bay  is  very  bold.  The  promontory  is  of  the  most  striking  character, 
coming  down  from  the  mountain-pealc  in  a  succession  of  grand,  sweeping  terraces,  some 
of  the  descents  being  so  scarped  as  to  suggest  the  idea  of  Titanic  fortifications.  On 
the  flani<s  there  is  the  inevitable  red-wood  forest,  which,  in  places,  ascends  almost  to  the 
summit.  In  other  places  the  mountain  is  bare  and  rugged,  showing  huge  masses  of 
grayish  granite  verging  on  purple.  The  cliffs  at  the  extremity  of  the  promontory 
have  been  torn  and  rent  by  some  dreadful  convulsion  until  they  are  almost  separated 
from  the  main-land.  And  their  jagged  summit  bears  a  quaint  resemblance  to  the 
spires  ,iiul  min  nets  of  a  cathedral.  v\i  the  entrance  to  the  mouth  of  the  river  are  huge 
detached  cliffs  of  basalt,  which  form  two  groups,  called  by  the  boatmen  the  Brothers 
and  Sisters,  though  the  same  name  is  applied  to  other  cliffs  down  the  coast.  The 
slopes  near  the  sea  are  denuded  tf  timber,  and,  being  covered  with  a  short,  sweet  grass, 
aff(jrd  excellent  pasturage  to  a  fine  breed  of  sheep,  for  which  this  part  of  (he  eountr\ 
is  noted.  On  the  sci'iern  side  of  the  mouth  of  Russian  River  there  are  broad  sweeps 
of  line  pasturage,  from  which,  however,  (he  basalt  crops  up  occasionally  in  isolated 
|)eaks,  like  the  castles  of  the  rol.ier-knights  who  lived  along  the  ScoKish  borders  in  llu 
olden  time.  They  are  inaccessible,  which  the  birds  seem  ;.<  cumprehend,  for  they  inhabit 
iiere,  anil  breed  with  as  much  freed>)ni  as  on  the  sea-girt  cliffs  that  stud  the  sh6re.  Ihis 
pi'culiar  formation  shown  in  the  engraving — •'  more  than  three  hundred  feet  high,  and 
affords  a  pleasant  shadow  in  ine  hot  noons  fi-r  the  flocks  of  sheep  and  their  shepherds. 
it  is  nearly  square,  and  the  sides  arc  o  steep  that  no  one  has  ever  succeeded  in  climb- 
ing, though  many  have  tried.  Be»')nd  the  sweeps  of  pasturage  tin-  hills  eome  down 
again  and  renew  their  strutjgle  witl^  the  sea.  It  seems  as  if  thue  !;ad  been  a  iiuitual 
understanding  ai.d  a  truce  •■)  allow  the  beautiful  young  river  lo  join  luiself  to  the  sea, 
anil  the  plains  ever  her  attendants.  Tiun  the  truce  is  liroken,  and  the  old  warfare  re- 
commences, for  the  mountains  come  down  with  greater  determination  than  ever,  and,  at 
Bodega  Head,  rush  far  into  the  sea.  as  if  in  contumely  and  derision  of  the  sea-botn 
pow  ers. 

The  town  of  Bodega  was  formerly  the  Russian  stat'')n,  and  in  the  vicinity  there  are 
still  the  frail  anti  fading  remai  is  t»f  a  stockade  and  fort,  with  an  <>ld  church,  built  in 
17H7.  iN.any  of  the  names  in  Bodega  are  Russian,  and  one  sees  on  the  signs  Ivaiii- 
vilch,  C(ir/>h(firo ;  X'assiliviteh,  />f7;/<rrt'<7V'  -  S|mnish  being  the  language  of  the  place. 
There  is  an  old  Spanish  iiolel,  built  of  adobe,  in  the  regular  Spanish  style,  with  a  gar- 
den attached.  This  in  former  days  used  lo  be  filled  with  flowers,  but  is  now  oeiupieii 
by  vines.  The  native  wine  is  ealh'd  while  Sonoma,  and  is  excellent,  but  is  not  much 
putroni/ed  bv  the  populace,  who  are  rapidly  l>ecoining  Amerieani/.ed.  Their  teachers 
being  I'ikes,  as  the  Missourians  are  called,  wliiskev  made  from  corn  or  wheat  is  thi 
great  beverage.     I'"rom  the  same  cause  it   liapptiis  that,  tht>ugh  there  are    plentiful    flocks 


The  north- 
ig  character, 
•rraces,  some 
ations.  On 
most   to  the 

masses   of 

promontory 
St  separated 
ancc  to  the 
'cr  are  huge 
he    linjthers 

coast.     The 

sweet  grass, 

the   count rv 

in>ad  sweeps 

in  isolated 
irders  in  I  In 
they  inlia'oit 
sh6re.  'lliis 
I't  hiuh,  and 
ir  shephertls. 
i?d  in  climb- 
come  down 
n   a   mutual 

to  tlie  sea, 

warfare  re- 
L'ver,  and,  at 
[he  sea-botn 

ty  there  are 
reh,  built  in 
signs  I  vani- 
Ihe  place, 
with  a  gar- 
tw  oeeupiiil 
i  not  much 
icir  leachers 
heal  is  the 
itiful    iiocks 


56o 


PICTURESQUE    AMERICA. 


of  sheep  and  herds  of  cattle,  one  can  hardly  {jct  any  meat  save  pork.  There  is  abun- 
dance of  good  ham  and  bacon,  eggs  are  plentiful,  and  the  bread  is  of  most  admirable 
quality.  Bodega. is  by  no  means  a  bad  place;  for  the  ground  is  very  fertile,  and  there 
is  excellent  grazing  all  about.  Pears  and  apjjles  of  tlie  fniest  (juality  are  grown  in  such 
abundance  that  two-thirds  fall  on  the  ground,  and  the  pigs  are  driven  in  to  feed  on 
them.  Besides  the  white  Sonoma  there  is  a  black  grape,  which  is  of  excellent  quality 
as  an  eating-grape.  Vegetables  also  grow  superbly,  and  corn  s  produced  as  excellent 
as  in  Illinois  or  Ohio.  After  the  toilsome  journeying  through  the  mountains,  which  is 
sufficiently  fatiguing,  whether  by  wagon  or  on  horseback,  a  few  days'  halt  in  Bodtga 
comes  very  agreeably.  There  is  much  to  bo  seen  also.  Many  of  the  houses  are  of  the 
.  old  Spanish  construction,  with,  perhaps,  romantic  histories.  The  old  stockade-fort,  Ross, 
situated  on  a  plateau  near  the  cliffs,  is  well  worthy  of  examination,  and  the  old  Greek 
Church,  with  its  miniature  spires  of  red-wood,  and  their  gilded  tops,  is  a  curious  relic 
of  a  past  so  absolutely  gone  that  very  few  are  pware  now  that  it  ever  existed.  I'Vom 
Bodega  a  capital,  fast-going  stage  runs  to  Fetaluma,  which  is  only  forty-six  miles  from 
San  Francisco.  It  is  situated  upon  I'etaluma  Creek,  at  the  head  of  San  Pablo  Bay,  and 
steamers  run  every  day  from  it  to  San  Francisco.  But,  for  the  tourist  who  wishes  to 
see  the  coast,  this  route  is  inadmissible,  since  it  is  a  diversion  inland,  and  a  turning  one's 
back  ui>on  the  scenery  and  the  diiriciilties  of  the  shore-line.  A  stage  will  take  him  to 
the  town  of  Two  Rocks,  which  derives  its  name  from  the  configuration  of  the  coast. 
One  of  these  locks  is  given  by  the  engraving.  The  height  is  about  two  hundred 
and  sixty  feet,  but  the  mass  is  enormous.  Detached  rocks,  like  needles  worn  to  a 
point  by  the  eternal  blustering  of  ine  wiiuls  and  waves,  surround  it  on  every  side  like 
small  diamonds  around  a  Koh-i-noor,  and  on  the  Hanks  there  are  broad,  ll.it  masses, 
which  are  the  favorite  resorts  of  seals.  I  lire  the  soft -c) id  wretches,  so  persecuted  for 
their  exiiuisile  skins,  sun  themselves  in  comparative  security;  for,  though  not  protected 
bv  law,  as  at  S.m  Francisco,  yet  the  inlluence  of  that  law  is  felt  here  in  Two  Rocks, 
and  there  is  a  moral  feeling  against  disturbing  their  repose.  The  innumerable  birds 
that  make  their  nests  upon  the  broad,  Hat  summits  of  these  rocks  arc  not  so  kindly 
ireuted,  being  robbed  at  regular  intervals  by  an  egg  company  fornud  for  that  purpose. 
Wild  and  precipitous  as  these  rocks  appear,  they  can  be  scaled  without  difhculty,  and 
the  time  will  inevitably  come  when  the  bi.ds  will  learn  to  avoid  the  place,  and  these 
rocks  will  lose  their  chief  attraction  their  chief  attraelion,  it  must  be  understood,  for 
the  multitude. 

lor  the  lover  of  natural  --ccnery,  these  enorinous,  isolated  rocks  have  a  grand  fasci- 
nation, to  which  the  birds  contribute  'lothing.  The  grayish  tones  of  the  upper  part, 
inel'ing  into  the  deepest  browi,  with  the  glowing  white  ')f  the  summit  produced  bv 
guano,  and  the  broad  yellow  of  the  wiUu-rcd  grasses,  delight  tlie  ,irtistic  eye.  The 
shadows  vary  fiom  pale  violet  to  deep  purpli.',  according  t     ''      hi-s  of  the  lights.     The 


V 


here  is   abun- 
ost   admirable 
ile,  and   there 
frown  in   sueli 
n   to    feed   on 
cellent  quality 
i   as   excellent 
lains,  which   is 
lit   in    Bodtjtja 
ses  are    of  the 
;ade-forr,  Ross, 
lie    (lid    Greek 
I    curious    relic 
L'xisted.     From 
;ix   miles   from 
'ablo  Bay,  and 
who  wishes   to 
I  turning  one's 
I    take   him   to 
1  of  the  coast, 
two    hundred 
les    worn    to    .1 
every  side    like 
id,   Hat    masses, 

l)ersieuted    for 

not  protected 
n  Two  Rocks, 
uunerable    birds 

not  so  kindly 
)r  that  purpose. 
I  dilliculty,  and 
[)lace,  and  these 

understood,  for 


R-.  -^ 


5  i^^  i 


w 


4 


e  a  grand  fasci- 
tlu-  i.pper  part, 
it  pMiduced  bv 
istic  eye.  The 
the  liuhts.     The 


I  *'l ' 


,i,^t*#***^ 


I 


4 


;| 


\ 


fKT    - 


^^p 


ON  THE    COAST    OF    CALIFORNIA. 


561 


lines  are  also  most  pictu- 
resque, Nature  having  con- 
trasted all  varieties  of  lines 
—  perpendiculars,  diagonals, 
horizontiriG,  vanishing  curves 
in  the  <  rocks  ;  while  below, 
ill  the  swash  and  foaming 
of  the  iumultuous  seas,  there 
are  other  curves  of  a  totally 
diverse  character,  and  other 
tones,  which  contrast  strange- 
ly with  the  colors  of  the 
rocks.  The  seas  are  deep- 
green,  like  emerald,  or  mud- 
dy-green, like  aqua-marina, 
according  to  depth  and  oth- 
er conditions ;  and  there  is 
great  variety,  also,  in  the 
white  tints  of  the  foaming 
crests,  according  to  their  vol- 
ume. The  sky  above  is  not 
a  very  deep  blue.  It  is  a 
softer,  milder  cerulean  than 
that  which  arches  over  our 
heads  in  New  York  and 
New  England  ;  it  is  not  so 
splendid,  but  it  is  more  ten- 
der, and  seems  to  fill  (lie 
soul  with  fonder,  gentler  feel- 
ings. The  clouds  are  most- 
ly stratus  and  cirri,  and  lie 
low  on  the  horizon,  or  Heck 
the  sky  with  golden  frag- 
ments, like  the  sheep  of 
some  celestial  shepherd.  If 
you  look  at  the  sky,  your 
heart  becomes  melted  with- 
in you ;  if  you  look  at  the 
sea  thundering  on  these  Two 


I 


I 


11^ 


562 


PICTURESQUE    AMERICA. 


Rocks,  and  watch  the  great  swathes  of  glittering  -  green  water  come  rolling  on  to 
hurst  and  be  shattered  in  mid-career  upon  these  castles  of  the  sea-birds,  straightway 
your  soul  is  filled  with  ideas  of  the  delights  of  battle,  the  fierce  joys  of  hand-to- 
hand  combat,  and  the  stern  music  of  ringing  swords.  Get,  if  you  can,  upon  a  level 
with  the  water,  and  catch  the  color  of  the  tips  of  the  waves  when  they  are  raised 
u])  heavenward,  and  are  between  your  eyes  and  the  sky;  then  you  will  forget  the 
ideas  of  battle,  and  you  will  cease  to  hear  the  thundering  strokes  of  the  waves  upon  the 
sea-walls  of  the  rocks,  and  you  will  live  only  in  color.  For  the  moment,  whether  you 
have  ever  handled^  a  brush  or  not,  you  will  be  a  painter,  and  you  will  know  all  the 
glories  of  color,  and  you  will  find  the  tears  welling  from  your  eyes,  and  will  compre- 
hend the  inspired  madness  of  Turner  and  the  heroics  of  Ruskin.  It  is  not  that  these 
things  cannot  be  seen  everywhere,  for  they  can,  but  here  the  type  is  on  so  large  a  scale 
that  he  must  be  trebly  blind  who  cannot  read  the  book  of  Nature,  and  glory  in  the 
mystic  revelations  of  her  talisman.  This  is  why  the  West  is  breeding  our  poets;  for,  as 
they  stand  and  gaze  with  the  eyes  of  understanding,  the  rhythm  and  the  word  are  re- 
vealed, and  the  song  has  found  the  lips  that  shall  utter  it. 

Persisting  in  our  resolution  not  to  be  diverted  from  the  coast,  we  must,  now  that 
we  have  arrived  in  Marin  County,  take  a  schooner  from  the  pretty  little  harbor  of 
Oloma,  only  fifteen  miles  from  San  Francisco,  and  enter  the  famous  bay  in  this  way 
rather  than  yield  to  the  seduction  of  stages,  railways,  and  internal  navigation.  As  we 
approach  the  entrance,  tiie  hills  on  the  left  loom  up  through  the  deep  haze  like  giants, 
and  are,  indeed,  more  than  two  thousand  feet  high.  To  the  right,  they  are  by  no  means 
so  lofty.  As  the  mist  clears  off,  they  are  bare  and  sandy,  and  are  not  very  (licturescjue, 
though  on  the  left  the  peak  of  Tamulpais  shows  grandly.  The  view  opens,  and  the 
sjjlendid  straits  called  the  Golden  Gate  appear.  Tiirough  them  we  can  see  the  island-rock 
of  i\leatraz,  with  its  fortifications  gleaming  in  the  distance.  The  enormous  mass  of  Ta- 
mulpais, which  showed  at  first  boldly  in  our  front,  seems  still  behind  Alcatraz.  Between 
the  last  and  the  slu)re  is  Angeles  Island,  very  high,  and  covered  with  rich  green  vegetation. 
Goat  Island,  willi  its  fort,  is  on  tiie  left  of  Alcatraz.  To  our  right  hand  is  Fort  Point, 
where  the  United  States  flag  floats,  and,  a  little  beyond  it,  the  old  Presidio.  Beyond  is 
the  city — the  gUjrious  city  that  leaped  full-born  into  existence.  It  rises  up  with  number- 
less towers  and  spires,  and  great  warehouses,  as  the  schooner,  with  her  sails  filled  to  burst- 
ing with  the  fresh  sea-breeze,  staggers  on.  Little  craft  and  big  craft,  steamers  from  tiie 
ocean,  tugs,  and  every  variety  of  lloating  thing,  are  spread  upon  the  gleaming  waters, 
whose  green  waves  dash  into  wiiite  foam  upon  the  three  islands  ahead.  Beyond  the 
city,  one  can  catch  momentary  glimpses  of  shipping,  which  grow  fuller  and  fuller  until 
we  get  abreast  of  .Alcatraz,  when  all  the  glory  of  the  bay  bursts  upon  the  sight.  Far 
on  the  other  side  are  Benicia  and  the  glittering  waves  of  Carquinez  Straits.  Beyond  we 
catcli  a  glimpse  of  the  peak  of  Monte  Uiablo,  at  the  base  of  which  seems  to  crouch  the 


rolling    on    to 
ds,  straightway 
^s    of    hand-to- 
,  upon   a  level 
hey   are  raised 
will   forget   the 
vaves  upon  the 
t,  whether   you 
II  know  all  the 
d  will  comprc- 
not    that   t  hese 
;o  large  a  scale 
1   glory  in    the 
-  poets;  for,  as 
;  word   are   re- 
must,  now  that 
ittle   harbor   of 
ay  in   this  way 
ration.      As  we 
aze  like  giants, 
e  by  no  means 
cry   picturesque, 
opens,  and  the 
the  island-rock 
IS   mass  of  Ta- 
atraz.     Between 
reen  vegetation, 
is   Fort    Point, 
lio.      Beyond   is 
J)  with  number- 
filled  to  l)urst- 
amers  from  the 
learning  waters, 
d.     Beyond  the 
and  fuller  uniii 
the  sight.     Far 
ts.     Beyond  we 
IS  to  crouch  the 


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PICTURESQUE   AMERICA. 


town  of  Oakland,  though  it  is  really  a  very  large  place.  But  the  air  is  so  pure,  so 
serene,  that  one  can  see  the  scaned  ravines  on  the  sides  very  far,  and  we  almost  think 
we  can  see  Stockton.  It  is  not  from  the  bay  itself,  however,  that  the  finest  view  can 
be  obtained.  From  the  schooner's  declc  one  can  indeed  obtain  glimpses,  but  the  whole 
can  only  be  seen  from  the  shore.  To  survey  all  the  beauty  of  the  Golden  Gate  it  is 
necessary  to  climb  Telegraph  Hill,  which  is  to  the  westward  of  the  city.  From  that 
elevated  position,  v.  ith  roofs  and  buildings  lying  peacefully  below  one's  feet,  and  stretch- 
ing far  out  to  one's  right  hand,  the  prospect  of  the  Golden  Gate  is,  indeed,  exceedingly 
beautiful.  The  portals  of  the  "Gate"  seem  but  a  mile  apart,  and,  through  the  mist 
that  hangs  upon  the  farther  side,  the  giant  Tamulpais  looms  with  tremendous  force,  like 
some  Titan  sentinel  guarding  the  approach  of  a  new  Ilesperides.  The  steamers,  with 
their  crowds  of  passengers  swarming  along  the  bulwarks,  move  majestically  through  the 
heaving  tide,  which  makes  the  white-sailed  sdiooners  dance,  and  rocks  the  three-masted 
mtTchiintmen  thit  have  traversed  wild  wastes  of  water  around  Cape  Horn.  The  islands 
show  plainly,  and  the  fortifications  gleam  brightly,  under  the  full  glare  of  the  sun.  Spite 
of  the  mist  tha^  lingers  along  the  bold  cliffs  opposite  the  vision  commands  a  far  stretch 
of  landscape,  and  deserves  the  position  which  our  eager  friends  of  San  Francisco  have 
accorded  to  it.  To  them  it  is  the  lion  of  the  place;  and  the  first  thing  which  f!;c  citi- 
zen recommends  to  the  stranger  within  his  gates  is  to  take  a  look  at  the  Golden  Gate 
from  Telegraph  Hill.  This  view  we  illustrate  with  a  steel  engraving,  from  a  drawing  by 
Mr.  James  D.  Smillie.  Uut  to  the  inhabitants  themselves  there  is  no  pleasure  equal  to 
the  ilrivc  through  the  sand-hills,  over  a  fine,  hard  road,  to  the  Cliff  House.  This  is  em- 
phatically the  most  picturesque  part  of  San  Francisco,  both  in  its  surroundings  and  in  its 
seal-clitTs,  where  the  sea-lions  bark  and  whine  and  roar,  with  none  to  make  them  afraid. 
The  distance  from  the  city  is  about  five  miles;  and  there  is  little  to  be  seen  on  either 
side  of  natural  beauty,  though  there  are  parks  and  cemeteries  and  gardens  of  extreme 
loveliness.  Nature  has  furnished  only  sand-hills,  which  seem  to  be  half  firm,  like  sand- 
stone, half  crumbling.  Hut  the  Cliff  House  is  built,  as  its  name  imports,  upon  frowning 
basalt  ;  and  the  road  that  winds  from  it  to  the  ocean  hence  has  been  cut  through 
solid  rock.  The  bluff  of  the  hotel  is  about  one  hundred  and  thirl  v  feet  in  perpen- 
dicular height,  of  a  gray  color,  verging  into  the  deepest  brown.  Detached  bowlders  lie 
at  il^  bas'',  and  are  tormented  by  the  fierce  rollers.  Beyond,  at  some  distance,  arc  the 
cliffs  where  the  .sea-lions  congregate.  Truly,  their  bark  is  worse  than  their  bite.  They 
occasionally  get  up  >  little  altercation,  and  roar  tremendously ;  but  they  are  a  placable 
people,  and  their  contests  are  not  alarming.  Strangers  sit  on  the  esplanade  in  front  of 
the  Cliff  House,  and  watch  them  by  the  hour  through  their  openi-glasses.  There  is  one 
big,  burly  fellow,  the  largest  of  all,  who  roars  ten  times  more  than  any  other,  and  of 
whoin  all  the  others  are  afraid,  who  climbs  to  the  top  of  the  cliff,  and  suns  himself 
comfortably  all  day.     No  one  attempts  to  take  his  place ;  and,  when   he   descends,  pad- 


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566 


PICTURESQUE    AMERICA. 


_    T 

I  if 


dling  in  the  awkward  manner  of  the  phocine  tribe  with  his  flappers,  the  others  respect- 
fully get  out  of  his  way. 

The  seals  seem  to  appreciate  their  perfect  security,  and  congregate  in  hundreds  on 
these  cliffs.  The  females  suckle  their  young  ones,  and  the  males  catch  fish  and  sun 
themselves,  as  if  they  were  in  the  middle  of  the  ocean,  where  no  eye  of  cruel  man 
could  see  their  glistening  skins,  and  begin  to  calculate  what  they  would  fetch  in  the 
New-York  market.  Little  touches  of  sympathy  with  universal  Nature,  such  as  this,  are 
truer  subjects  whereon  to  claim  American  superiority  than  all  the  inventions  with  which 
the  Yankees  have  blessed  the  world.  To  delight  in  the  happiness  of  human  beings  is 
much;  but  to  extend  the  circle,  and  to  delight  in  the  happiness  of  inferior  animals,  is 
more,  especially  when  you  could  get  a  good  round  sum  by  killing  them. 

From  the  Cliff  House,  a  road  has  been  cut  through  the  basalt  for  some  distnnce, 
and  is  succeeded  by  a  fine,  sandy  strand.  About  five  miles  from  the  first-named  hotel 
there  is  another,  named  the  Ocean  House,  which,  if  it  has  no  attractions  in  the  way  of 
sea-lions,  has  much  to  recommend  it  in  the  scenery  by  which  it  is  surrounded.  Here, 
indeed,  is  one  of  the  stretches  of  ground  where  one  can  see  the  Pacific  Ocean  roll 
in  with  uninterrupted  grandeur.  Nothing  can  be  conceived  more  majestic  than  this 
sight,  especially  in  that  pdrt  of  the  strand  which  gives  a  fair  view  of  Point  San  Pedro. 
The  length  of  the  wave-walls  is  fully  a  mile,  and  the  height  of  the  rollers  twelve  feet. 
The  enormous  mass  of  water  comes  onward  with  a  solemn  grandeur  which  appalls. 
There  is  no  hesitation,  no  tremor,  along  the  whole  line;  and  it  looks  like  the  charge  of 
an  army  of  cavaliers  galloping  with  perfect  regularity  and  even  line  upon  the  foe.  Sol- 
emnly it  advances,  with  the  crest  just  flecked  with  foam ;  and  every  thing  seems  hushed, 
as  if  in  expectation  of  the  onset.  Suddenly,  as  it  nears  the  shore,  there  is  a  trembling 
all  along  the  mile  of  sea,  and  the  crests  begin  to  curve  slightly  over.  The  line  halts ; 
the  crests  curve  more  and  more ;  and  suddenly  the  immense  length  pours  down  like  a 
cataract  upon  the  shore,  pounding  the  sand  as  if  *vith  so  many  trip-hammers.  Every 
tiling  has  a  throb;  the  solid  earth  seems  to  tremble,  and  the  great  rocks  to  oscillate. 
The  white  rime  that  was  poured  over  the  strand  rushes  back  with  incredil)le  velocity. 
He  were  a  bold  swimmer  who  could  fight  through  that  undertow.  As  it  rushes  back 
it  meets  another  oncoming  wave,  and,  striking  its  base,  hurtles  it  down  with  crashing 
fury;  and  then  there  is  a  hush.  Tlie  sea  is  silent.  The  birds  and  the  insects,  taking 
courage,  begin  to  sing  and  to  chirp  until  there  comes  another  solemn  booming,  and  the 
roar  of  another  broken,  rolling  wave.  And  this  eternal  symphony  takes  place  in  a  kind 
of  l)ay,  where  the  mountains,  rushing  to  buttle  with  the  sea,  have  advanced  far  into  fhc 
waters,  and  their  out|)osts  have  luvn  terribly  mangled.  The  great  promontory  has  been 
severed  from  the  mountain ;  and  between  them  are  three  s(|uare,  isolated  cra-^s,  with 
shallow  water  around  them.  Here  the  sea  rages  and  bellows  like  a  wild  thing;  and 
the  waters  seem  to  lose  themselves  in  eddies  and  whirlpc>ols,  and  to  be  unable  to  find 


ON    THE    COAST   OF    CALIFORNIA. 


567 


their  way  back  to  the  sea, 
so  that  they  might  charge 
io  line  with  the  great,  sol- 
emn pollers.  The  old  prom- 
ontory, "now  become  an  iso- 
lated crag,  is  covered  with 
sea-birds,  and  its  top  is  al- 
ready white  with  their  gua- 
no, although  it  could  hard- 
ly have  been  separr.ted  from 
the  main-land  for  more  than 
a  few  hundred  years.  Seals 
sometimes  come  here,  but 
not  very  often,  as  they  are 
not  protected.  On  the  beach 
there  are  few  shells,  but  there 
is  an  abundance  of  the 
broad,  ril)l)on-like  sea-weed 
which  is  gathered  on  the 
coasts  of  Ireland  and  Scot- 
land, and  burned  for  kelp. 
Blocks  of  granite  show 
themselves  occasionally  peep- 
ing up  from  the  sand,  anc! 
prol)ably  are  bowlders  de- 
posited there  in  by  -  gone 
ages,  which  the  sands  have 
covered.  The  sea  is  diver- 
siSed  with  the  sails  of  fish- 
ing-boats, for  fish  are  abun- 
dant in  these  waters,  and 
the  l)irds  are  busy  all  day 
lung  in  the  neighborhood 
of  their  stronghold. 

It  is  diificult  to  say  at 
what  time  of  year  this  view 
is  most  beautiful.  In  the 
summer  the  winds  rage  with 
more   intensity   than    in   the 


lliilMiiuiiiunHWJUlWuiiiu.iNiliiiia'Ml.ililJ'i 


568 


PICTURESQUE    AMERICA. 


winter,  and  the  clouds  assume  fantastic  forms,  which  combine  with  the  raging  of  the  sea 
to  make  most  exquisite  and  forcible  pictures.  But  in  the  winter,  when  the  breezes  blow 
from  the  southwest,  though  the  fury  of  the  great  rollers  is  mitigated,  and  the  bursting 
of  the  breakers  less  formidable,  there  is  an  added  charm  in  the  soft,  misty  haze  which 
dwells  upon  the  mountains,  which  to  many  seems  preferable.  For  under  this  influence 
the  Coast  Range,  which  pours  down  its  lines  of  rugged  peaks  at  Poi:  t  San  Pedro  into 
the  midst  of  the  wild  waves,  has  a  strangely  soft  and  tender  aspect.  The  impression 
which  the  ranges  of  crags  make  upon  the  spectator  is  no  longer  one  of  barren,  savage 
desolation.  The  haze  envelops  them  in  tender  tones,  and  gives  to  their  coldness  a 
warmth  which,  in  truth,  is  not  their  own,  and  is  calculated  to  deceive.  But  to  the 
painter's  eye  how  exquisite  is  the  gradation  of  those  warm  and  softened  gray  hues 
which  seem  not  very  distant,  low  down  at  the  honzon,  and  melt  by  almost  imper- 
ceptible degrees  into  the  clear  air,  showing  lines  which  are  faintly  traced  and  yet 
distinct ! 

The  coast  south  as  far  as  Monterey  offers  few  specialties  of  picturesque  beauty, 
being  mostly  foot-hills  covered  with  pine-trees,  and  mountains  of  small  height  and  mo- 
notonous outline  behind  them.  There  are  few  bold  headlands,  the  land  sloping,  for  the 
most  part,  with  a  gentle  declivity  toward  the  sea. 


END    OF    VOLUME     FIRST. 
\ 


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